The View From The Other Side
by Tickled Purple Monkey
Summary: Voldemort lures Hermione to the dark side. She's the youngest Death Eater in history. Voldemort acts as her father, insisting she's the Dark Lady. Can Harry and Ron see it and save her from the dark side? Or will it be Draco? DrH eventually. Pre HBP.
1. Prologue

Author's note: I'm sorry to loyal fans for quitting A Love That Shouldn't Be Needed, but the final straw was when I found that my most loyal reader and best friend had taken the story off her favorites list because it was too far-fetched. Which is exactly what I'd been thinking. So, I'm truly sorry about it, and if you choose to hate me for it, please don't take it out on me in this fiction and post flamers about that story on this story's reviews.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.

PROLOGUE

Hermione stared at the ceiling of her room. She had changed a lot over the summer and she knew it. At 16 she would be starting her 6th year at Hogwarts in September. She sighed and rolled onto her side, restless. This was the summer that she had begun to rebel—and she had liked it in an odd sort of way.

Had this summer gone as expected, she would never have rebelled. She wouldn't have needed to. But at the very beginning of this summer, everything had changed.

It all had started when Hermione's father caught the flu. A shopping trip had been planned for that day, but Mr. Granger was too sick to attend, so it turned into a girl's day out for Hermione and her mother. They left the house at 10 AM with the promise to be back at 7 with dinner. That left Hermione's father home alone for the better part of the day.

Hermione and her mother had planned on shopping until 400, seeing a movie at 4:30 and then getting dinner at 6:30 and be home at 7 as planned.

But plans went astray at 4:30 when the movie they wanted was sold out. That was just fine with Hermione and her mother though—they would just go home early and order delivery.

They walked through the front door at a quarter to 5 and silently walked upstairs. They didn't want to disturb Mr. Granger if he was sleeping. However, when they opened the bedroom door…all thoughts of concern for Hermione's father flew from their minds.

Apparently the affair had been going on for a while. The young woman worked in the office with the Grangers and had hit it off really well with her boss' husband. Of course, neither Hermione nor her mother had known about this. They were both shocked.

Hermione's father was currently still somewhat living in the house. As long as there were no confrontations between Hermione's parents, everything was fine.

At the moment, Hermione was alone in the house. Her father tried to avoid everyone as he packed to move out and spent most of the day out, only coming home to sleep at night and pack in the odd hours of the day when no one was home. Hermione's mother was out filing for a divorce. In fact, she'd barely said anything about Hermione's father since they'd found out about the affair. Hermione actually thought it easier when her mom was out. At least then she didn't have to pretend not to hear her crying in her room at night, or deal with her plastered-on smile during the day.

Hermione felt nearly as hurt as her mother. But with that hurt was a sort of smoldering rage at her father's betrayal. She had acted upon this rage and instantly rebelled against many rules her father had set for her. She also felt a little guilt—what if _she_'d done something to make her father want to do this to her mother and herself—but she shoved those thoughts away forcefully.

What made her guiltier was that she had used her mother as a tool. In the first days after, she had been so unresponsive that if asked to sign something in front of her, she would sign it without a second question. And this was how she'd started it.

She fingered the tattoo on her left shoulder blade. It was in the shape of a star, all black, and almost 2 centimeters across at every point. She smiled a grim smile and thought of her father's rule with distaste—"_no tattoos until you're 18 at least!"_ She had not particularly liked the procedure, but she now valued defying her father above the pain.

Her hands slid to her new navel ring and she smirked. She'd never particularly minded any of these rules, never considering that she may want to get a tattoo or any other piercings, but after his betrayal she wanted to do all she could to annoy him and shred his control over her into oblivion. She remembered him telling her that rule after she'd gotten her ears pierced—"_now, these piercings are the only ones you'll ever have unless you're not living under my roof; only ones on your ear lobes._" She'd also pierced the cartilage of her left ear, which was hideously painful, but she deemed it worth it in the end.

Among all the other rules he'd set, she'd broken curfew, gotten drunk and come home flaunting the fact (though she'd vomited it up later and had a hellish hangover), and she'd been to an un-chaperoned party. Pretty much the only rule she hadn't broken was "_no sex"_.

And she'd had fun doing it all. Well, except for the getting drunk thing. With a sigh, she awknowledged the fact that she was rather mentally unstable at the moment. She would do anything to defy her father, no matter the cost to herself or those around her.

"Happy thoughts?" a voice asked from the doorway.

"Not really," Hermione answered, still staring at a spot on the wall. She looked up, "who—" and gasped.

"Pettigrew," she breathed.

"Uh…my master would like a word with you," Wormtail squeaked and stepped aside.

For a moment, as a cloaked figure walked in the door, Hermione forgot how to breathe.

Then the moment passed and as she lunged for her wand, a voice hissed, "accio wand," and it slipped from her fingers.

At a loss, she just stood there, waiting for the death curse. Instead, there was Wormtail, easing her into a sitting position on the bed. She swatted him away and lunged for the cloaked figure—and passed straight through it.

Hermione stared, dumbfounded, as the cloaked head tipped back and laughed. The laugh was vicious, and filled with a sort of pity. "You didn't honestly think I would come in person, did you? I thought you were smart," Voldemort said conversationally, as if talking about the weather.

"A shadow." Yes, that would easily explain this. A shadow would mimic the person it was tuned to exactly. It could touch but not be touched. But there would need to be a focus—an inanimate object that was projecting this image and acted as eyes for it. The focus also could not be moved, or the shadow would sway, no matter how great the witch or wizard behind it, and more often than not dissipate. Either something Wormtail had brought with him and had set down somewhere (unlikely, he was holding nothing but her wand), or…

"You've been in my room before!" she accused.

"Now there's that wonderful mind at work!" he said proudly, just as her father used to when she came back from Hogwarts with top scores. The face under the hood lowered sadly and murmured, "It's too bad Potter doesn't appreciate it."

That rocked Hermione all the way from her bushy hair to her toes and back again. "Wh…what do you mean by that?" But she knew exactly what he meant.

He looked at her sadly, his eyes just a dim red glow from under the hood. "He's only been using you to get out of tight places for years. Like last year, when you were with that _nasty_ Umbridge and convinced her to go into the woods. Did he ever thank you for that?" No, he hadn't. "He could never have gotten out of there alone." No, he couldn't. "And he and that Weasley are always making fun of you for going into the library." They did. She shivered. "They then ask you if they can use the notes you studiously took down in class while _they _were horsing around. Or they will ask you to "correct" their work while they know that's the only way they can get the right answers." All true. "Any word of thanks?"

She didn't realize that there were tears on her cheeks until the shadow of Voldemort wiped them away. His words hit too close to home. And it hurt.

With a sniffle, she said, "he doesn't mean it."

"But that's when it hurts the most," Voldemort crooned softly, "when they don't mean it."

It was true. Too true. It did hurt more when they forgot to say their thanks to her. She wondered if those quiet nothings mirrored their true thoughts of her. When it was purposeful, at least she could shrug it off as them just trying to get back at her for something.

She looked at the hooded figure beside her and stood, "Why are you here?" She saw her wand on the bedside table and looked around for Wormtail to find he was gone before she realized it was useless. She couldn't cast a spell against a shadow.

"Why, Hermione, I thought you of all people would know that. Maybe you just didn't realize that our goals in life are not so different." Hermione waited patiently. "Knowledge, my chicklet, knowledge. That's all I really want out of life. Is that not your wish too?"

Hermione's stomach rolled. He was right. He'd hit the nail precisely on the head with that one. Weak-kneed, she sat back down on her bed. "No," she said. This couldn't be true. This couldn't be right. She tried to clear her head, tried to think. She racked her brain until… "If you want knowledge, then why kill all those muggles?"

"Because, my dear, they deserved to die," he answered harshly. "They committed acts that should never have been committed. Murdering children, rape, robbery, kidnapping. All these acts were done, but no one knew. No one but me. My Death Eaters and I are here to help," he said silkily, "but no one knows that. They think we're bad because we torture these people. But they don't know." It occurred to Hermione that he may be lying, but she dismissed the thought. It made sense, in a way, that people could be mistaken about Lord Voldemort and his followers. Too prejudiced to see the truth.

"I came here to make you an offer. Join the Death Eaters. Be my right hand. Come, and I can give you knowledge you have never dreamed of." Hermione hesitated. She knew she shouldn't—_couldn't_—but the offer was a good one. All the knowledge she could dream of—and more.

She opened her mouth to say no, but stopped when she heard a door open. Her father's deep voice, a feminine giggle, a soft moan. Her father didn't know they were there. But Hermione knew _he _was there, him and that little whore of his. The betrayal of her father cut deep, and she found herself snarling, "yes."

"Good, chicklet. Your initiation is in three weeks. Prepare yourself. I'll come to collect you at midnight. Be waiting for me. And remember, this is our little secret." The shadow vanished.

Hermione lay back on the bed. What had she just gotten herself into?

* * *

Lord Voldemort sat back in the chair. The large ebony desk in front of him was scattered with papers and documents that he was "fixing." He grinned and steepled his fingers.

"Did it work, milord?" Peter Pettigrew whined nervously.

"Like a charm," he hissed in reply. "She devoured up the lies like they were sweets. And now we have her, a beautiful mind, and," he paused, "a weapon against Potter."

Pettigrew grinned happily. "Do you require anything, master?"

"No. Leave me." Wormtail scrambled to obey and scampered from the room.

"Yes," Voldemort said to the now-empty office. "I believe this will help my plans nicely. Now, who to have at her initiation…" his thoughts became silent as he took a list of his Death Eaters from a drawer and began to cross off names.

* * *

TWO WEEKS LATER

* * *

Hermione was curled up on the couch reading when Voldemort came next. He was dressed like last time in a dark cloak with the hood pulled up. When she noticed him, she yelped and put the book away quickly. "L-Lord Voldemort," she stuttered, searching to compose herself.

"Most new Death Eaters have parents or family that are already members. As such, they are told stories about the initiation ceremony and know what to expect. You don't have Death Eaters in your family, so I have taken it upon myself to be your mentor and father among the Death Eaters."

Hermione stared. She had begun to think that the deal had just been a dream—a nightmare, really—but to see Voldemort here in the flesh was completely unexpected. She just nodded.

"Now, the initiation ceremony will have to be different for you. _I _am your adopted Death Eater father because you are muggle-born. As such, being my "daughter" will give you immunity from the others, but at your initiation, some in particular may try to stop you from becoming a Death Eater. So there will be a minimum of members at your initiation.

"Also, you are a Gryffindor. As such, your Dark Mark will need to be small and inconspicuous—"

"Dark Mark?" she said faintly. She hadn't thought of that. Voldemort just nodded.

"Yes, Dark Mark. As I was saying, small and inconspicuous so as to not call attention to itself. It wouldn't do for you to be revealed because you weren't wearing long sleeves.

"Now, I must be going, but in general, for the initiation, you take veritaserum and we question your ability to be a Death Eater."

Hermione's eyes widened. That was _it? _You just took veritaserum, answered some questions, and you're _in? _She paused, and her thoughts raced to Harry. What would Harry say about this? _Do? _Suddenly, she balked at the idea of becoming a Death Eater. No, there was no reason for her—

"My sweet, I'm so sorry to see that Potter didn't appreciate you like he should have. You're such a good girl. The Death Eaters will be pleased with your addition to the group."

His timing was perfect. Hermione snarled at the idea of Harry. Voldemort, at least, seemed like he appreciated her. Harry didn't want or like her. _That _was why she was doing this. Or was it? But it no longer mattered _why_; it only mattered that she would become a Death Eater now and nothing was about to stop her. She smiled viciously.

"Good, because I'll be glad to be one," she growled. Voldemort turned to go. "Wait!" she said. He turned back to her. "What exactly am I to address you as?" she asked timidly.

"You may address me as…" he paused, as if in thought, "your Lord," he smiled evilly, "or as your father." With a crack he Disapparatedd. Absently, she realized it had been him and not a shadow this time.

* * *

ONE WEEK LATER

* * *

Ten minutes until midnight. Hermione sat on her bed, nervous nearly to the point where she was witless. Her thoughts circled like a puppy trying to catch its tail. _Harry won't like this…Harry doesn't appreciate you…Your own father betrayed you…It's only killing the bad people…Your father won't like this…Voldemort appreciates _and _wants you…_Well, that settled it. She would do it. Or would she? Her thoughts began the cycle again, the protesting voice growing weaker with every cycle.

Finally, there was a knock on her door. She jumped up and opened it. A long, flowing cloak shrouded the figure beneath it, but she already knew who it was. "Lor—father," she said. It felt awkward, like trying to fit a car in your mouth, but she reveled in the fact that her biological father would be hurt by it. The figure waved vaguely down the hall and she followed.

Halfway down the hall, her real father's door opened. He stepped out in only his trousers and saw her. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

"I'm going out with a father who cares," she said nastily. The look of shock and hurt on his face were well worth the effort of calling Voldemort her father. As he stood in the doorway, too stunned to move, she turned and followed her "father" down the stairs.

At the foot of the stairs, Voldemort pulled a teacup from his cloak. Silently, she took it. There was a pull behind her navel and the hallway disappeared.

They were in an office. There was a large, ebony desk that was cleared off—except for a vial of what Hermione assumed was veritaserum in the center of its polished top. Behind the desk was one high-backed chair, while in front of the desk were five chairs. There was also a dark-colored lounge, paintings, a tiled fireplace, and a few shelves of books.

"That was brilliant back there," Voldemort was saying, "he deserved that—and much more—after what he did to you and your mother." Hermione didn't ask how he knew about the affair. Voldemort led her to the chair on the other side of the desk and rang a bell when she was seated. Four cloaked and hooded figures came into the room, seating themselves across from her. Voldemort took the fifth chair.

Hermione took a deep breath as Voldemort stood again and handed the vial on the table to one of the shorter cloaked figures. "Pettigrew, give Miss Granger the veritaserum." Peter bobbed a bow to the Dark Lord and uncorked the vial. He walked to the other side of the table and Hermione reached out to take it.

"No, chicklet, be a dear and let Pettigrew administer the potion," Voldemort hissed. With a glare, she obligingly opened her mouth. Wormtail poured the contents of the vial down her throat.

"What is your name?"

"Hermione Granger." The answer felt like it bubbled up from her throat before she could stop it. It was a slightly alarming feeling.

"Do you think you can be a Death Eater?"

"I know I can." Again, the answer was pulled from her with no effort at all. She relaxed a little this time though, realizing it was just the potion.

"Are you willing to torture and kill muggles?"

There was an awkward silence as she considered this, "if they deserve this treatment as I know they do, then yes." Someone sighed.

"Are you willing to accept Lord Voldemort as your mentor and leader?"

Another pause. "Yes, I think so."

Hermione could have sworn there was a hint of amusement in Voldemort's voice as he asked, "Can you follow my orders?"

"Yes."

"Do you like Harry Potter?"

Hermione took a deep breath, "I did, but he did and does not appreciate my talents."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"A no."

"Are you willing to accept the Dark Mark and take the Death Eaters as family?"

"Yes, I am." The answers, while still truthful, weren't pulled from her as they were in the beginning. It was beginning to wear off.

"Welcome, chicklet. You passed the initiation."

"Really? That was…easier than I expected." She made a face at the fact that the veritaserum was still working, though wearing off.

Voldemort shrugged and pulled two papers from a drawer in the desk. One he put aside. The other he handed to her and instructed her to sign. She did as directed, and added "Voldemort" to the end of her name when prompted.

Then the Death Eaters signed one by one that they witnessed her initiation, Lord Voldemort signing last. Hermione looked at the paper and the names, memorizing. There was her signature, then Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Pettigrew, and her "father" Lord Voldemort.

On the other paper—as list of Death Eaters, she realized—her name was added. The list was handed to her, and she stared at the length. There were many names on there, more than a few she recognized as parents of her classmates. She was the only Gryffindor though.

While she looked through the list, Voldemort came up behind her. There was a sharp pain in the small of her back that flared up to consume her—and everything went dark.

A minute later, when she came to, she found herself in close intimacy with the floor. She slowly stood, slightly surprised by the five Death Eaters that ringed her. "I told you, you should've warned her," someone that Hermione thought was Avery asserted.

"Sorry," Lord Voldemort said to her, "I didn't expect you to faint." Hermione rubbed her back.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You just got the Dark Mark. I didn't warn you because sometimes it's less painful if there's no warning. Or so I've been told. It's on the small of your back, and it's smaller than usual, only 5 centimeters by 3. It shouldn't be that hard to hide."

Hermione nodded. Voldemort handed her a bag. "Your Death Eater robe and mask. You are to wear these (though not necessarily the mask) whenever there's a meeting. The masks are only worn when we go and have our…fun." He leaned down as she donned the robes, and his breath on her ear made the hairs on her neck rise. "Now, obliterate their memory of this occasion."

"But—" she protested.

"Do it," he hissed. "It wouldn't do if you were revealed as one of us because they just couldn't keep their mouths shut. You said you could follow my orders, chicklet." He handed her wand to her.

Palms slightly slippery with sweat, she pulled up her hood and erased the initiation from their minds.

"What're we doing here?" said a voice that reminded her of Goyle from school. This was probably his father.

"I just was wondering if you four would like to have a drink with me. But first I must show my guest to the door. Pettigrew, take these men to the parlor. I'll be there shortly."

Hermione was led through an enormous house to the front door. "You are going to London to buy your school supplies sometime this week, are you not?"

"I am," she said cautiously.

"Go with Potter and Weasley, and _act natural. _Pretend that you think they like you and don't say anything about being a Death Eater. I'd hate to be betrayed by my own _daughter._" Hermione shivered and thought of her other father.

Voldemort took her face in his icy hands. Hermione realized then that she'd never seen him without his cloak and hood. "Can you do that for me, chicklet? Can you?"

She smiled at him. "I will, Daddy, I will."

He sucked in his breath at the new title and said, "good girl. Here's the portkey. I'll be in touch."

When she was safely tucked into her bed, she questioned her decision to actually accept Lord Voldemort as her adopted father. _Well, _she thought, _he _is _only my father when I'm with him and the Death Eaters. Maybe it won't be so bad to have a father again. _It took her a minute to realize that she had by now completely disowned her biological father. She was slightly guilty about it, but did not regret it. Her "real" father didn't want her—but there was someone who did.

* * *

Voldemort sat in his office that night. There was a bottle of vodka on t he large desk, but there wasn't much left. He had opened the bottle less than an hour ago, after his followers had left. Now it was nearly empty, and he could hardly talk. His thoughts seemed fuzzy, but still he drank on.

_Daddy._

_Daddy._

_My daughter. No, not my daughter, my _tool_. DO NOT GO SOFT! You can't get attached to her. You're going to kill her, so don't get attached. That will only make things hard._

Chicklet. _Damn. _He'd already given her a pet name. He giggled (a scary sound) and wondered where he'd gotten the word from. He mused that until 15 minutes later he realized it was a type of chewing gum. With another loud, very scary giggle, he passed out on the desk.

* * *

_And I know I wasn't right, but it felt so good._

–Better Than Ezra "A Lifetime"


	2. Chapter 1: Diagon Alley

CHAPTER 1: Diagon Alley

_I'll meet you in the Leaky Cauldron at noon, then we can all have lunch together and get our supplies._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Hermione looked over the letter. She hated signing with 'love,' but she didn't want them to suspect anything. Harry had been staying with Ron for the last month. She hadn't been invited. That just went to prove Voldemort's point that they really only liked to use her brain but didn't appreciate or care about _her _as a person, much less a friend.

With a sigh, she attached the letter to Hedwig's leg and sent the bird off to Harry and Ron. She stood and stretched, then went down the hall and opened the door to her mother's room. Contact between the two of them had been rather…forced since they'd found out about the affair. Each hated the way the other was handling the situation. Hermione's mother kept frowning at what she did to take her revenge. Hermione hated the way her mother acted as if it hadn't happened, treating him politely though as if he were a new acquaintance, not someone she knew very well or ever had. The only thing they both seemed to agree upon was that he had to get out of their house as soon as possible.

By now though, nearly two months later, he was nearly moved out, and it seemed as though a great tension in the house was eased. Hermione's mother didn't look ready to cry every second, and now the sounds of crying in her room were rare, she'd only cried once in two weeks. And though her mother was improving in her state, steadily getting over her father, Hermione was nowhere near that. Her hatred for her father flamed anew at every glance at his door, every look at her new piercings, every time she fingered her tattoo. There was no way she was ever going to feel any less than a deep pulse of hatred when she thought of him, a ferocious desire to bring him pain.

Hermione took a deep breath and knocked. "Come in," her mother said. Hermione obeyed, entering to sit on the bed. Her mother didn't look up from the book she was reading, but raised her eyebrows in question.

"Mum, can you take me to London today?" she asked. Her mother nodded absently at her and flipped the page in her book, continuing to read.

"Mum, I need you to stop reading and actually answer me. You're not paying attention to me, and I need you to." Marking her page, Mrs. Granger looked up at her daughter. Hermione had guessed right, she'd not absorbed anything that Hermione had just said, too immersed in her book. Her mother raised her eyebrows again in question. "Mum, I need you to take me to London at 11. I need to get my school supplies."

"Okay dear," her mother said with a smile. Satisfied that her mother had understood what she'd said this time, Hermione left the room. She stood in the hall outside her mother's door, considering. If she left, no one would be watching her mother. Her mother was currently trying to forget her father by continuously reading her books. Hermione could understand that, she'd done it many times herself, but she worried that her mum wouldn't go to work when she needed to, preferring to read, and to forget. Walking back to her room, Hermione made a mental list of her neighbors, ordering them by how reliable they were and the chances of being able to get them to come over.

* * *

Hermione was only a few minutes early to the meeting at the Leaky Cauldron. The Weasleys had been even earlier though, and the four redheads stood out in the pub. Hermione made her way over to them. They greeted her warmly, but Harry and Ron were excited about something, which made their hellos rather hasty.

"What's got you two all excited?" she asked dryly.

"There's a new broomstick out," Ron said excitedly.

"They say it's faster than even the Firebolt!" Harry added.

Ron calmed a bit, "But mum said we had to wait for you to get here before we could go see it."

The boys exchanged a look, and then they simultaneously grabbed Hermione's arms and dragged her into Diagon Alley…

Where they ran into Draco Malfoy and his posse. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the Golden Trio. Dragging her off to get a make over? She desperately needs one," the Slytherins laughed. "I hear they've got a new salon in that dumpster over there—though, on second thought, Weasley, you may not even be able to afford that," the blonde drawled, while Crabbe and Goyle snickered at the bright red that Ron's ears were turning.

Ron made a move as if to attack, but Harry held him back while Hermione tried to lead them away.

"Scared?" Malfoy taunted. "I don't understand why, just because you need your filthy Mudblood girlfriend to protect you is no reason to be scared." Crabbe and Goyle stepped in front of him, but it was too late. Harry and Ron had burst free from Hermione a second earlier. Crabbe and Goyle managed to stop Harry, but Ron broke through and gave Malfoy a punch in the jaw before he was pulled away. The fight continued between Harry, Ron, Crabbe, and Goyle until "ENOUGH!"

Everyone looked up at a furious Cornelius Fudge. "What is going on here? Brawls in the middle of Diagon Alley! I'll leave you with just a warning this time, but if I catch you again there's going to be a worse punishment in store for you. Now GO!" One look at Fudge's bright red face and everyone went their separate ways.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione scampered into Madam Malkin's—the nearest shop. Hermione looked at Harry and Ron and made disapproving noises. "Honestly," she said, looking at Harry's split lip. Madam Malkin came over with a first aid kit and Hermione gave her a grateful look. "You would think,"—she put a band-aid on a cut on Harry's forehead—"that you two,"—she handed the pieces of Harry's glasses to Madam Malkin, who repaired them—"would be smart enough,"—she wrapped Ron's bloody knuckles with a bandage—"to at least not start a fight"—another band-aid on Ron's jaw—"in the middle of Diagon Alley." She put one last band-aid on Ron's nose, which was bleeding profusely but didn't look broken.

"There," she said, stepping back. She surveyed her handiwork, silently wondering why Madam Malkin hadn't just used magic to fix the boys up. She stifled a snort of laughter as she noted their eyes. "Looks like you two will have matching black eyes." They glared at her, which made her want to laugh even more because they looked ridiculous.

Hermione packed up the first aid kit and went into the back room to give it back to Madam Malkin. When she came back to the shop, the boys had their backs turned to her. "Honestly," Ron said softly in a horribly high-pitched voice, "you two should be smart enough to not start a fight!" His voice returned to normal, "We _didn't _start it, it was Malfoy!" Hermione felt the words like a stab to the heart.

So maybe they hadn't started the insulting, but they _had _been the first ones to throw a punch. And she came in here, put bandages on them, and then they began to _make fun of her! _Voldemort was right. They didn't care. They were just using her. With a sound like a strangled cat, she turned on her heel and left the store, her face a violent red color.

She went about getting her school supplies alone, studiously avoiding Harry and Ron. The task was completed more quickly than usual (probably because of Harry and Ron—or the lack thereof). Hermione took the train home and sat alone.

Not long after she arrived home, she got a call from Harry and Ron. She hung up on them and didn't answer the phone again that night, locking herself in the privacy and safety of her own room.

That night, she wrote a letter to Lord Voldemort.

_Daddy,_

_When exactly do you plan to tell my new family that I'm a new member? Harry and Ron were being mean to me in Diagon Alley today. They really _don't _care about me. You're all I have now, though I will still play at being their friend if that is your wish._

_I hope that you will reveal me soon, but I have a few questions about what will happen when you do. What should I wear to the ceremony? Will it even be a ceremony? What will happen? How will my family react to me? Please write back soon._

_Signed,_

_Hermione_

Hermione read it over a few times, then changed the "signed" to "sincerely". Then she added a P.S..

_P.S. How long until I am in your inner circle? Will I ever be in your inner circle? I ask only because you called me your daughter, but the bitter truth is that I'm your youngest member (I noticed when I read the list) and may never manage to be that high in the ranks. And I'm muggle-born as well, and I worry that that may affect my standing._

Hermione hesitated, then sent the letter off. She curled up on her bed with Crookshanks and slept.

When Hermione awoke the next morning, there was a letter on her desk. The front of the envelope was unmarked, but there was a seal on the back in the shape of a dark mark. She grinned at the old-fashioned seal and broke it before she fell onto the letter inside.

_My dearest Hermione,_

_I plan to have you at Mr. Draco Malfoy's initation, where you are to be revealed. His initiation date has not been completely set, but Mr. L. Malfoy has been asking for it to be soon, so I am thinking of having it in mid- to late-September sometime. What do you think of this? Would you prefer a certain date?_

_Indeed, when you are revealed it will be a ceremony, and not just that of Mr. Malfoy's initiation. I have decided that there will be a ball/party after to welcome you into our ranks. I suggest wearing some dress robes, preferably in red or black, but don't worry about those now, I will take care of them later._

_Because you will be introduced with me as your sponsor, your "family" may react a little coldly, but less so since I will be your mentor. You do not have to call me your father, but if you do, you are more likely to be accepted among the family._

_As the guest of honor, you will be required to dance a few times at least, and you are not allowed to refuse a request. I suggest you learn some dance steps so you do not make a fool of yourself._

_In reply to your post script: my silly dear, you _are _in the inner circle. With me as your mentor, sponsor, and acting as a father to you, how could you _not _be in my inner circle!_

_Come today and have tea with me. I can see that not all your questions have been answered. I will summon you at noon._

_Signed,_

_Tom_

Hermione puzzled over the signature. Since when did You-Know-Who go by Tom? It took her a minute to realize that if he'd signed with anything other than an ordinary name, and the letter had been intercepted…

She grinned absentmindedly and looked to the digital clock for the time. It was nearly 11. She showered and dress (she spent more time than usual dressing, unsure what was appropriate to wear), then curled up on her bed with a book to wait.

At noon sharp, Voldemort appeared in her room with a crack. Wordlessly, he offered her a portkey which she took. A minute later, they were in a huge dining room. The walls and ceiling were artfully painted and professionally gilded with gold. The dining table was mahogany, as were all the chairs—except two. At the closer end of the table were two ebony chairs.

Both of the ebony chairs were throne-like. They had black silk cushions and silver and gold gilding. The larger one, upon closer inspection, the gold and silver gilding was in a vine-like patter. Interspersed among the vines were skulls. Frowning slightly, Hermione turned to the second chair. It was smaller and more dainty than the other one. She studied the intricate gilding. There were vines on this one too, and hidden among them were serpents. Put together, the chairs would make the basic foundation for the dark mark what with the skulls on one and serpents on the other.

"Lovely," Hermione murmured, commenting on the chairs. Absentmindedly, she noticed the lunch was already set.

"I'm glad you like it. The smaller one is yours. I had it made for you by the same carpenter that made mine. As the Dark Lord's "daughter", I felt it appropriate that the Dark Lady has a chair of her own." The voice under the hood was amused. Hermione's jaw dropped. _Hers. The Dark Lady? _It made sense, but still…

"Alas, I fear that I have something to show you." His hands began untying the hood's drawstring. "I would only ask you not to scream. I only felt it fair that you at last see the face of your sponsor to decide if you really will accept me as a father figure. I understand if you won't, and if you don't…well, you're still the only Death Eater that's not pureblood that I personally have been mentor to, and all the privileges, chair, and title will still be yours." He let the hood drop.

Hermione choked. The face was a cross between human and snake. The nostrils were slits, and head bald and unnaturally pale. Red, snake-like eyes. She shivered and had second thoughts.

But the two of them were similar, in that they both sought after knowledge. She looked for other similarities. They both had muggle-parents. They had the same facial features in general (a nose, two eyes, a mouth, two ears…), even if his were a demented version. She bit her lip, finding no more similarities between the two of them.

But that didn't matter, he _cared _about her. The proof of that was in the expensive throne-like chair in front of her and the hopeful look on his face, that was only diminished by his eyes which knew exactly what she saw and were frightened by her imminent rejection.

Still, she hesitated. _This would be a big blow for Harry, _she thought. But Harry didn't care about her. An odd look crossed her face before she met Voldemort's red gaze for a split second (she couldn't hold that unwavering red stare for longer than a few seconds). She took a deep breath, "Well, _father, _can we dine? I'm quite starved, to tell the truth."

Voldemort looked pleased and slightly disbelieving, and she thought she saw a look of dismay cross his face too quickly to be sure if it was dismay or something else. He put his hood back up, which she was grateful for, and pulled her chair back for her to sit down. She did so, and he pulled back his own chair and sat also. They served themselves, and she ate voraciously.

Neither of them talked much during lunch, but in his study/office later, they sat down with tea and chatted about Death Eater customs and regulations. Their conversation soon veered to Draco Malfoy's initiation.

"Lord Voldemort, sir…er…Malfoy and I have been enemies for years…" She trailed off, not quite sure how to say what she was trying to say.

"I realize that. It's that whole Slytherin versus Gryffindor thing like usual. And Potter sure got in his way…yes, well, that will all change now, no?"

"But I don't want him anywhere near me!" she blurted out. "I can't stand him! He always calls me a Mudblood, and I know it's just a word, but I hate it! And I hate him!"

Voldemort seemed slightly shocked at her vehemence. "Well, my dear Dark Lady, I am sorry to tell you, but we _must _have him. You'll just have to either deal with him or avoid him—"

"But—"

"His father is influential. Without Draco Malfoy, we lose Lucius Malfoy. If there's no Lucius then there will be other defections. Without the support of the Malfoys, we would be nothing and have to rebuild everything all over again. No, Hermione, I _will not_ let some childish prejudice get in the way of everything I have worked for. However," he said, raising his voice to quell her protests, "if you'd like to have your revealing ball before Mr. Malfoy's initiation rather than after it, I can arrange that.

"Now, let me explain another custom among the Death Eaters. The traditional initiation age is 17. But you and Mr. Malfoy are special and therefore the only exceptions to that rule, now and forever. So if I were you, I wouldn't brag to all the Slytherins that you're the youngest Death Eater in all of history. Some, well, actually, many, will be jealous.

"So, will you allow yourself to be revealed the same night of Mr. Malfoy's initiation, or do you want it before or later?"

Hermione thought about this. Certainly not before. The best way to make Malfoy angry would be to have them on the same day. After wouldn't do any good either. Maybe… "Do you think maybe the same day, but we can have my ball first, then the initiation just before everyone goes home?"

That would be the best way to make Malfoy mad. Then he couldn't be fawned over as the youngest Death Eater because people would already know about Hermione. She would have stolen his place at Voldemort's side as well, making him angrier. And at the end of the ball, people would be too tired to pay him the attention he'd want.

Voldemort seemed to follow her thinking. "Are you sure?" Hermione gave an impish grin and nodded. "Very well. What date do you want it?"

Hermione thought for a minute, envisioning her calendar. "September 26th?" she asked. "It's a Friday, so we'll have all weekend to recoup, and we'll also have time to settle into school."

"Smart thinking," he said proudly. "You need a dress. I hate shopping myself, but I know a woman who would be willing to help you get an appropriate outfit for the occasion…yes…" he stopped talking, but Hermione assumed he was thinking and didn't interrupt.

"Okay," he said. "I think it's time for you to meet Narcissa Malfoy. We can—and will—erase her memory afterwards, but I believe she can find you something suitable…"

An hour later, Hermione was out shopping with Narcissa Malfoy in a muggle shopping center. Apparently, Narcissa preferred their styles to the styles of wizard robes. In not only this, Narcissa was nothing like she'd expected. She was ruthless, cold, and smirked a lot, reminding Hermione of Malfoy. She didn't have very much patience, either. Hermione didn't like her at all, but she was forced to admit that she had an excellent taste for fashion. And she seemed to know exactly what the Dark Lord wanted for Hermione.

Hermione balked at the dresses that Narcissa handed to her. She wasn't usually picky with what she wore, but what Narcissa was handing her was unbelievable.

There was one dress, a cream colored gown that Hermione liked. Narcissa snatched it from her hands and put a blood-red velvet one in its place. The red dress was long, tight-fitting, and had a low neckline. Narcissa loved it, though complained it was too long for her own tastes, though it looked perfect on Hermione. Hermione agreed, for the most part, but personally didn't like the low neckline. Eventually they ended with this compromise, it being the only thing Hermione would allow herself wear with any measure of dignity.

Narcissa snatched up a matching pair of red, low-heeled shoes, paid, and they were done in 30 minutes. Hermione was delivered to the Dark Lord's door with Narcissa in a huff.

"She has horrible taste in clothes. I think you should've told her what you wanted. I hope she's generally more fashionable than _that!_" Narcissa complained, turning to go.

"Narcissa, there's one more thing," Voldemort said, pushing Hermione behind him into the house before obliterating Narcissa's memory.

"Why am I here?" Narcissa's frigid voice asked.

"I don't know. You just showed up here and rang the doorbell. I'd like the same answer myself!" Voldemort snapped.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, milord," Narcissa said meekly before she left.

Voldemort closed the door behind her and turned to Hermione. "Well, let's see this dress that you bought. Bathroom is that way,"—he pointed—"and I'll be in my office just down this hall."

"I'd really rather—" the last word died on her lips as an icy red glare fixes itself on her. Instead, she bowed slightly, murmuring, "yes, sir."

"That's better." Voldemort turned and left. Hermione went into the bathroom and changed. The shoes (surprisingly) fir perfectly and Hermione reflected that Narcissa had probably done this before. With a deep breath, clenching her hands nervously she tottered (she rarely wore heels and took a minute to get used to them) down the corridor. She knocked softly on the door before entering.

Voldemort had his hood down, but this time she was not so repulsed by his snake-like features. His eyes glimmered approval as he waved her further into the room.

At his direction, she spun in a small circle so he could see all angles. "Narcissa did a nice job," he murmured.

"Can I go change now?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Go ahead." Hermione bolted for the door, but just as she reached it, "Do you know how to apply makeup? And well, none of this little kid all-over-the-place stuff."

Hermione blushed, but shook her head. Voldemort sighed and waved her to continue. She was out the door before the gesture was finished.

Back in her comfortable, unrevealing clothes and sensible shoes, Hermione entered Lord Voldemort's office.

"Narcissa will be applying your makeup, and I'll be having someone do your hair." He examined the list in front of him. "Maybe…"

"I can do my own hair!" Hermione protested. "It's just too much work to do it every day."

Voldemort shrugged. "Very well then. I believe ringlets would be nice. Or have it straight. Even better if you can put in red streaks to match your dress," he added as an afterthought.

Hermione nodded. She'd done straight hair before, so ringlets seemed the better option. And she could have Lavender or Parvati streak her hair red. That would break another of her father's rules—which made it seem more enticing. She bared her teeth in a smile.

"And…well, I got something else for you too…" he pulled a box from a drawer and handed it to her.

Hermione examined the box. It was a little square in shape, and hadn't much height. Curious, she opened it up—and gasped.

Nestled in black velvet was a jewelry set—a bracelet, a choker, three earrings (two for her lobes, one for her pierced cartilage), a navel ring and a ring (the usual kind, for your finger). The whole set was a bunch of silver snakes, with gold inlay common to the pattern of the bushmaster. Each snake had a pair of ruby eyes. The choker drew her attention the most though.

The choker was, like the rest of the jewelry, a silver snake with gold inlay to make it look like a bushmaster. Ruby eyes glittered at Hermione. This snake was laying curled in a hoop large enough for her neck, and its tail came around to curl under the head, which was laying tilted down towards the ground. A golden tongue protruded from the mouth, and the forked tip was wrapped around a small ring on which hung a black diamond star, about two centimeters at each point.

Confused as to the significance of the star, she looked to Voldemort, indicating the choker's star. He shrugged, "I noticed your tattoo," he said simply, then winked, startling her.

Looking at the rest of the set, they all looked like the choker, though it was the only one with a black star, and the only one sticking out its tongue. Two of the earrings matched, and it was apparent that the tail went through the hole, and the body and head dangled. The last earring was a small hoop for her upper ear. The bracelet would coil twice about her wrist, the ring only once. The last item in the set, the navel ring, was in the same pattern as the rest, but she lingered over it the longest. How had he known she'd gotten it pierced? Had he been—

"Do you like them?" his voice seemed anxious, and that struck her as funny, though she didn't laugh.

"They're gorgeous, but I can't accept these, they must have cost a fortune."

"And my daughter isn't worth a few galleons?" Hermione thought a few _million _galleons would be more accurate, but she was pleased at how offended he was. He cared about her, and didn't care how much money he spent on her. "Honestly, since when is a father not allowed to splurge some money to dote upon his daughter?"

"Well, never, I guess…" Hermione said cautiously. She stared at the priceless set of jewelry. "Wait a minute…how am I supposed to get these on? There aren't any clasps."

Voldemort took her hand and moved it to the box, letting her finger brush against the bracelet. The snake came alive and coiled up her hand, coiling itself to a perfect fit around her wrist where it settled. Hermione stared, then pulled out the choker. The snake wriggled at her touch, and it made its way to her neck, where it locked itself securely there, letting its head rest in the hollow of her throat, the star dangling a little below it. All of the jewelry did similar stunts, even the ring, which tightened slightly on her right ring finger so as to not fall off.

"I love them," Hermione said, flinging her arms around Voldemort without thinking.

* * *

Harry awoke from a nightmare. He'd just dreamed that Hermione was accepting a gift—he wasn't sure what it was—from Voldemort. And then she'd hugged him.

But Hermione would never do that. Besides, even if Hermione was with Voldemort, she'd be fighting against him, not hugging him. Harry gave a half-hearted chuckle at the absurdity of this dream and fell asleep.

When he next woke, he remembered nothing of this nightmare—and never would.

* * *

_They'll only move for you, and they'll never be lost because they'll come right back to you. _Voldemort's words rang through her head.

_Since when can't a father dote on his daughter?_

_The Dark Lady…my daughter…_

Hermione woke from her fitful sleep. Voldemort's words had ingrained themselves into her mind, and she kept reliving being given the throne and the jewelry. She just couldn't believe it.

With a jolt, she realized that she'd be going to back to Hogwarts today. Thankful that it was still early, she showered, dressed, and checked that everything was packed. Now all she had to do was find Crookshanks, eat, and call some neighbors to see if they could (or would) check up on her mum once in a while. She managed to do everything but find Crookshanks by 10 AM. Just as they were leaving the house, she finally saw him in their yard.

She ran to get him before he made her late. But before she could touch him, he hissed at her, arched his back, batted at her with unsheathed claws. She stepped back, hurt by his refusal to let her touch him, and he turned to walk right past her to settle on the porch. He glared at her with yellow eyes as if to say that he wouldn't come to school with her this year.

Saddened, Hermione stepped into the passenger's seat of the car and stared at the large marmalade cat the whole while he was in sight.

* * *

_A rivalry goes so deep between me  
And this loss of sleep over you_

–Fall Out Boy "Dead On Arrival"


	3. Chapter 2: Hogwarts

CHAPTER 2: Hogwarts

Hermione stepped into King's Cross with a sigh. She hoped (rather desperately) that her mother would be okay on her own. But then, Crookshanks was there to guard her, so there shouldn't be a _huge _problem. And their next-door neighbor, Mr. Schwinn, had said he would check up on her.

She smoothed the front of her shirt, a spaghetti strap tank top, and checked that her skirt faced the right way before wheeling her cart through the pillar to Platform 9 ¾.

It was nearly 11, so Hermione pulled her luggage off the cart and boarded the train. She looked through compartment after compartment until she finally found Harry and Ron.

They jumped up immediately, issuing apologies for their behavior. Hermione waved them off, insisting that it was fine and forgiven, which it wasn't, really. She was amused that they still had matching black eyes (now faded with age), but the cuts (not the bruises) were healed.

Ron's nose was so bruised it looked an unhealthy yellow color. "Mum was so mad at us that she refused to heal us. Said 'it'd do you good to heal the muggle way. Maybe then you'll be less inclined to engage in violence.' Or something like that," Ron explained.

"Well, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have said that you two started the fight," Hermione lied.

"No, you were right. We hit them first," Harry said reasonably. Ron shot him a sour look but didn't object.

"Before long, Hermione and Ron were called up to the front for prefect business. As they were leaving, Harry gave Hermione a queer look. "What's the on your shoulder?"

Hermione frowned, looking over at her right shoulder. Nothing. She stiffened and turned to her left. Her tattoo. Her eyes widened. She had forgotten about it completely. She'd been wearing spaghetti strap tank tops all summer to show it off to her father. Now most of the tops she owned were of that style, because she hadn't been willing to have her father see her without something she was doing, saying, or wearing screaming defiance at him.

She gnawed her lip and looked at Harry, false innocence written on her features. "A tattoo?" She phrased it like a question.

Harry's eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Ron jumped behind Hermione to examine her shoulder. "That's so cool! Is _that _what a tattoo looks like? I've never seen a real one before. Can I get one too?" he said excitedly. Apparently, tattoos weren't very common in the wizarding world.

"Look at the time, we're gonna be late!" Hermione bolted, and Ron followed because he was too interested in the black star to leave it be. Hermione stepped into the nearest bathroom (Ron almost followed her in, and she had to push him out, reminding him that he wasn't female, and this was a bathroom for that gender) and arranged her hair to cover the star, mentally kicking herself for putting it in so obvious a place. She exited, and she and Ron continued on their way down the corridor.

A few minutes, Ron broke the relative silence of the hall. "Why did you cover it up?"

"You and Harry weren't supposed to know that it even existed. It was my own bad judgment that made me wear this top and let it be seen," Hermione answered truthfully. If they saw the tattoo, there would be too many questions asked about it. The same went for the dark mark (she winced at the thought of that one; _that _wouldn't merely fit under the category of "too many questions would be asked"), and possibly even her navel ring, to a lesser degree. Best that they not know.

"Why not?" Ron inquired.

"Why, here we are!" Hermione opened the door to the compartment and quickly stepped inside, effectively cutting off Ron's barrage of questions. Ron stepped in behind her sullenly.

"Well, now that we're all here, I'd just like to say that the fifth year prefects can look to the sixth and seventh year prefects for any aid or guidance that you need, and especially the Head boy and Head girl. All older prefects may leave to patrol the halls while I brief the new prefects on what to do," Professor McGonagall said swiftly.

Hermione held back slightly so that she had as many people between herself and Ron as possible. At last, she peeked out the door cautiously. Ron was waiting for her though, and he pulled her out before she could retreat, banging her shoulder on the doorway in the process. "We need to talk," he said gruffly as he dragged her down the corridor. Hermione resisted, knowing that he was taking her to Harry's compartment.

Ron, however, was bigger and stronger than Hermione. He practically lifted her off her feet the last few yards. Ron banged his elbow on the door until Harry opened it, looking wild, expecting something terrible (Hermione imagined the scene would have looked comical were she not in it, but as she was being held off the ground by Ron, somehow she couldn't find the heart to laugh at it). Harry's wild, panicked look turned perplexed at their situation, and let them in, where Ron tossed her onto a seat and guarded the door with Harry.

"Hermione, I thought we were your friends. Why would you not tell us about the tattoo?" Ron's voice was filled with pain and she had to look away. "Is this why you didn't come to the Burrow this summer?" Ron asked her softly. Her anger flared up. She knew they'd talked about it during the school year, but in the summer, she'd not gotten an invitation as she had the years before. How could he be so rude as to remind her that she'd not been invited!

"At the beginning, yes. I might've come later though, if—" the door slid open.

"What's all this ruckus?" Came a drawl that was too familiar. "There've been complaints up and down the hall about some _noise _coming from this compartment." Malfoy looked at each of them and he smirked.

"Oh, it's the Golden Trio. No wonder people were complaining. Now, don't try to jump on her all at once. Take turns. We wouldn't want our precious Mudblood princess to get hurt, now would we?" He sneered at them and left. Hermione seized her chance and shot from the compartment like an arrow from a bow. In fact, she got out of the room so fast that she ran into Malfoy, knocking the both of them over. He shoved her off him.

"Get _off _me, you filthy Mudblood!" He made a sound of disgust and wiped off the front of his robes. She dodged behind him just as Harry and Ron charged out of the compartment.

"Come on, Hermione, it can't be so bad," Harry coaxed. Hermione though fast and realized she'd been stupid to act like this and make a big deal of it. Now they'd know something was up.

"Yes it can," she called from behind Malfoy, then paused. She was hiding behind _Malfoy. _Seeming to realize the same thing, and refusing to act as a bugger any longer, he turned to stand with his back against the wall. Stripped of all shields, Ron snatched her up for the second time that day and dragged her into the compartment, snarling at the people who had come out of their own rooms to see what was going on. Harry beckoned them into the room quickly and slammed the door shut so hard that it bounced back and he had to close it again.

"Now, what can be so bad that you'd rather we not know about a little star?"

Hermione pretended to fret as she grasped an idea. It would be the truth, of sorts, and if played correctly…it may just work. "You'll probably think it's stupid," she said slightly thickly, thinking of every sad thing, every injustice that had happened in her lifetime in order to summon tears. She looked at them through blurry eyes, and knew that they would think the excuse stupid.

"Try us," Ron said harshly, then his face softened slightly at the tears in her eyes.

"Well, Viktor began thinking that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work out." He had. And Hermione had agreed with him—but she wasn't going to tell Harry and Ron that. "And I remembered that in one of his previous letters, he had said he thought tattoos were cool. So I got one so maybe he wouldn't break up with me, but he did and it was horrible…" During her speech, she had let the tears slip out and roll down her cheeks. Finished talking, she looked out the window vacantly, willing the tears to continue.

Ron paced the small room furiously. Hermione jumped when Harry awkwardly put his arm around her to comfort her.

"Ron, please stop the death threats," Harry said. What Hermione had thought was merely angered muttering were death threats, apparently. She pitied Viktor when Ron next saw him. Ron stop pacing, and his mumbling stopped, and he looked to her, running a hand through his hair. His gaze fell to Harry's arm on her shoulders and his eyes narrowed as he glared at Harry.

"It's better this way, really," Hermione said, giving a pathetic smile and pretending not to notice the look Ron was giving Harry. But Harry had already gotten the hint and quickly took his arm off her shoulders. Ron nodded slightly to him. Harry mumbled an excuse that was quite incoherent and left the compartment.

Ron was silent. Hermione wiped her eyes, catching sight of her watch just as Ron began to speak, "Hermione, I—"

"Ron, we've completely neglected our prefect duties, and we'll be at Hogwarts in five minutes!" She looked at him apologetically. "Can we continue this later?"

Ron looked pained, but he agreed and left Hermione alone to change.

Hermione wondered what Ron had wanted to tell her. There had been an odd look on his face, in that flickering glance he'd sent her before leaving. It was a look of…she shook her head, unable to place it.

Just as she finished buttoning her robe, the train stopped. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. She smoothed her robes, pinned her Prefect's badge onto the chest guiltily (she'd completely shirked her duties!) and was out the door. She caught up with Harry and Ron at the carriages.

The carriage ride seemed like old times. Hermione put a firm blockade between herself and the thoughts that Harry and Ron didn't care about her. With that barrier set, she was able to act nearly normal around them. It was good enough to fool them, at least, and they were content.

Everything seemed so…_normal._ Hermione was surprised by that. And she felt both relieved and dismayed by this. Relief because it would be easier to play out her lie. Dismay because…well, it was almost too easy, and maybe, _just maybe, _she had been wrong and they did care about her.

But no. Her decision had been made. She'd chosen the dark side, and it was too late to change her decision now.

Her thoughts drifted during dinner, and it was only years of habit that made he hear all of what Professor Dumbledore was saying. He spoke of house unity and also reminded them about the off-limits areas, and…

No Hogsmeade weekends this year. Nearly every mouth in the Hall was agape. _No Hogsmeade? Why not?_

"That's right," Professor Dumbledore's face was oddly grim. "No Hogsmeade visits. I know many of you enjoy these trips, but with Voldemort at large, I just cannot put you in that kind of danger." Many of the angry murmurs hushed, but some started anew. "Now, I know some of you," he glanced at Harry, "may think you can beat him. But many older, more experienced wizards have gone up against him before, and all have failed.

"However, since you cannot go to Hogsmeade, I have talked to all of the shop owners, and most have agreed to have Hogsmeade come to you. So, I am very happy to announce that during the first full weekend of every month, nearly every shop in Hogsmeade will be set up in the Entrance Hall for your enjoyment. Each shop will have their basic and most popular wares, and if you wish for anything that is not supplied there, the shop owners will be happy to have you pay for them there and they will owl you the item later.

"And now, having said everything that had needed to be said, feel free to eat up!"

Hermione picked at her food, suddenly not hungry. She didn't particularly mind that they couldn't go out to Hogsmeade (it would be in their very own Entrance Hall, now), but thoughts of Voldemort led to Harry and Ron, an uncomfortable topic. They appeared to be her friends, but…they didn't really notice her. She heaved a sigh and pushed her plate away. Without Harry and Ron, who were her friends now?

With a jolt, Hermione realized she was now alone at Hogwarts.

Suddenly chilled, Hermione stood, and under the pretense of needing to use the bathroom, hastily left the room. Two pairs of eyes watched her departure: one pair blue, shining from behind half-moon spectacles, the other a brilliant, worried green.

Hermione put her back to the door of the bathroom. She wallowed in guilt and self-doubt. She'd betrayed both Harry and Ron, though neither knew it. She'd also betrayed about three-quarters of the school in the same act, but none so much as Harry and Ron. Had she done the right thing? Now she wasn't so sure. A small voice yelled _no, _but there was the larger one, saying, _they never appreciated you. Never. They're only getting what they deserve. _Rising in strength slightly, the smaller voice said, _you'll lose your best friends._ But the larger one seemed to smirk as is said, _you'll make new ones. And, Dumbledore was saying something about school unity. _You _will make that happen, because you'll be friends with the Slytherins. _The larger voice had won.

Hermione composed herself, took a deep breath, and left the bathroom. Just as she reached the Great Hall, Harry came out of the doors. Hermione stifled a groan. This wasn't as easy as she'd thought. "Hello, Harry," she said calmly. "Do you need to use the bathroom too? I won't keep you waiting," she stepped out of his way.

Harry's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong here—he just wasn't sure what. Fine, he'd play her little game, but he was determined to figure out what had happened. "Thanks," he said gaily, though his eyes were still slightly narrowed.

Hermione sighed in relief when he'd left, then entered the Great Hall again. Harry watched her from behind a statue, and one question in his mind stood out—What the hell was going on!

That night Hermione flopped into her bed with a sigh. How ever was she going to make this work? Why had she even agreed to this? But, then again, Harry hadn't even noticed anything was wrong. He didn't care about her—and that's how he'd lost her friendship. With a smirk to the darkness, sleep was permitted to kidnap her.

After a good night's sleep, Hermione was less jumpy and quickly took up her double role ad Voldemort's heir and (pretending to be) Harry and Ron's friend. It was far easier than the day before, and she mentally stored any information that may prove useful to Voldemort. Timetables were handed out that day, and Harry, Hermione, and Ron were pleased to see that their least favorite classes were evenly spread out for once.

With a pseudo grin, darkness in the depths of her eyes that was masked by its opposite, and feelings of guilt, betrayal, and (a little bit of) satisfaction riding secure in her heart, she began the school year.

Over the next month, the seemingly impossible task of pretending to be Harry and Ron's friend began to be simply a risky game of pretend. It became a rather dull chore, like having to play boring little kid games with young children while babysitting: un-challenging, and easy to win.

Relations with Malfoy, however, had become so weird and confusing to the bullying blonde and his cronies that the "Golden Trio" was simply sneered at and ignored and avoided at all costs.

The first encounter happened one day at the end of Care of Magical Creatures. Malfoy was insulting Hagrid, as usual, before he decided to slander Harry, Ron, and Hermione as well. Hermione stared at him, an uncanny glean in her eyes and a smirk lifting the corners of her mouth in an I-know-something-you-don't-know fashion until he was too disturbed to make fun of them and walked away.

Several more similar run-ins happened until Malfoy was so disgruntled by her stare and superior smirk that they were merely ignored.

Notes to and from Voldemort were weekly. The two of them discussed many things, and Hermione was surprised to find a growing liking for him, and between keeping up in her classes, tiring excursions with Harry and Ron that wore her thin simply because of how often they were all together, and weekly correspondence with her "father," late September came as a surprise.

The reality of the whole situation hit Hermione with rather a rush. Voldemort's last letter had strict instructions for her to follow:

_Tonight, you are to go to the Slytherin commons while everyone is at dinner. The password is "dragonflame". Mr. Malfoy will be waiting for you during that window of time. Be sure to wear a cloak and do not let him know who you are beforehand or all is lost. You are to accompany him to the Shrieking Shack. Be there by 6:30, even if you must run the whole way. Do not be late. Do not be seen or there will be dire consequences._

For some reason, the letter sent chills up and down her spine. She breathed a slight sigh of nervousness and went about her day as normally as she could, but the thought hovered obnoxiously in the back of her mind.

After classes, Hermione excused herself from Harry and Ron's presence and went up to her room, feigning illness. She pulled out several jars of hair products from her trunk and went through the laborious task of straightening her hair.

By a quarter to five, Hermione was done straightening her hair, leaving it lovely, sleek, and straight. With shaky fingers, she pulled out a magazine from her trunk also. It was the type of magazine she'd never buy, full of hair, makeup, and fashion tips: none of the stuff that mattered. Indeed, she hadn't bought this magazine, having filched it from Lavender when she wasn't looking because it had an article on streaking your hair magically. She flipped to the page and followed the directions, and at nearly 5:15 she was happy to have her hair now straight and with blood red streaks to match her dress.

Now it was time for the last part. She'd taken the liberty of looking up curling spells in the library. Now, she used these on her hair to give herself perfect, softly curling ringlets. Finally satisfied, she looked at her watch. 5:37. She put a charm on her hair to keep it from getting ruined along the way.

Quickly dressing in black pants and a black turtleneck shirt, she slid from her dormitory, pulling on her long black cloak and arranging her hood to leave her face in shadow. Taking secret passages, both to reach her destination quicker and to remain unseen, she quickly reached the dungeons.

Where she stopped.

She realized she didn't know where the Slytherin commons were. Hesitatingly, she spent ten minutes of her precious time wandering the dungeons. Suddenly a wall to her left opened, and out walked a familiar blonde.

"About time," a familiar drawl sounded. She considered turning around and smacking him for his impudence before she heard him continue more softly, "I was beginning to worry."

Surprisingly, she grinned before composing herself and saying gruffly, "Let's get going, we haven't too much time." Not too long after, they were safely out of the castle. Hermione had, along the way, tucked the route to Slytherin in the back of her mind just in case for later.

Taken aback, a frown shaped Hermione's mouth. She hadn't expected Hagrid to be out right now. But it seemed he was merely running late to dinner. As he passed, he looked at the pair suspiciously, before saying roughly, "shouldn't yeh two be at dinner?"

"We were merely going on an evening stroll. Something werong with that?" Draco intoned innocently. Hagrid's black eyes narrowed before he continued inside. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief before she and Malfoy continued on their own way.

Malfoy and she didn't converse much as they hastened on their way. The young man had tried a conversation in the beginning, saying, "so, do you know what this whole ball thing's about? I've heard they've had balls before, but usually everyone knows what the occasion is beforehand…?"

"I know, but I am not to speak of it," Hermione said.

"So…er…" Malfoy said when the pause grew overlong and awkward, "what's your name? I'm Draco Malfoy, of course."

"Of course you are. I will see you at the ball and introduce myself to you then." Finally Malfoy took the hint and gave up on conversation, and they continued with their brisk walk.

Checking her watch continuously to not be late (and having to run the last bit of the way), they arrived at Hogsmeade just in time. As they neared the Shrieking Shack, a loud crack sounded as someone Apparated in front of them.

"Right on time," a voice said coldly before handing them a pocket watch. "Three…two…one…" A jerk behind their navels and they dissolved from Hogsmeade.

The second the pair appeared in a long hall, they were whisked away, Draco taken the left whereas Hermione was led down the long hall to an office at the other end.

"Sir?" she asked hesitantly to a chair behind the desk whose back was to her.

"Ah, Chicklet, you're here."

Grinning softly, Hermione said, "Yes. I still need my makeup done and to put on my dress and shoes. I already did my hair." She took off her cloak, letting it fall to the floor before she walked around to the other side of the desk. "What do you think?"

The chair swiveled slightly to get a better look at her, and beneath the shadow cast by the hood of the cloak, she saw teeth bared in a smile. "Lovely." He examined her a little more before indicating a door behind her. "You may go get ready in there, and I'll call in someone for your makeup." With a nod to her father, Hermione walked through the door.

The bathroom she was now in was huge. Nearly larger than the Prefect's baths in Hogwarts, it was all made of shining white marble, the ceiling a pale, pale pink to match some of the pink running through the marble. Multiple showers, a huge bathtub, a sink big enough to sit in, and a huge towel rack with large fluffy pink towels and her dress hanging on it. Her dress was both the most colorful and the darkest thing in the room, and easily captivated the eye. A chill ran up her spine as she guessed that's what the night would be like: the thing that drew the eye, that held attention, that everyone saw. She wished she could melt into the marble at her feet.

With shaking fingers, she dressed herself in the blood-red gown.

* * *

Draco Malfoy sighed with relief to be home. He loved being at the Manor, it always gave him good feelings as he remembered what had happened here, and when he had fallen and laughed at himself there. The second they'd gotten to his house, his escort had been swept down the hall while he was pulled off to the left. Realizing there was no time to dawdle, he scurried up the stairs to his room to change into his dress robes and fix his hair.

When he was finally satisfied with his appearance (except for one rebellious strand of hair that kept falling over his eyes and would not stay back), Draco called in a house elf to lead him to his parents.

"Ah, there you are, Mum!" He kissed his mother's check and embraced his father momentarily.

"Perfect timing, Draco," Mr. Malfoy said, "we're about to be let in." True to his father's word, the doors opened just at that moment. With a grin, Draco and his family joined the line of people filing in.

It was a large ballroom, though decorated rather subtly in black and white with the occasional skull or serpent. In accordance of the festivities, everyone was dressed similarly in black or white (fewer white than black by far) dress robes, some trimmed with the opposite color.

Five long minutes of boredom for Draco, who knew practically no one, and cared to talk to less. But then…

The large doors creaked open. Draco snorted quietly: all doors in his house were kept perfectly oiled—the creaking was merely for drama.

Draco struggled to the front of the parting crowd. He saw Lord Voldemort, a hooded, imperious creature whose posture and obvious confidence proved him to be a leader. He walked alone, a true king, to the dais and stood in silence until he was sure everyone was watching him. He smiled.

"Hello, my followers. You may have wondered why I called you here tonight—we rarely have balls anymore. I have a very special guest." He paused, and Draco imagined for a moment that his smile grew sick with a predator's desire, "and I would like you all to meet…my daughter." He gestured to the still-open doors.

Every head in the crowd swiveled. A cloaked and hooded slight form stood in the doorway. As they watched, she shed her cloak like a cocoon, letting a nervous house elf retrieve it from where it pooled at her feet. Studying her, he noted she was about his own age; she stood tall, confident, and the upward tilt of her chin showed pride and dared someone to defy her. Her eyes flashed brown as she began to walk through the parting crowd, observing the room quietly. Among the blacks and whites in the room, she was a refreshing splash of color. Her eyes caught his, and she smiled.

It seemed to Draco that the world spun sickeningly. The girl in the red dress was the only thing there, her hair in perfect red-streaked brown curls, though all he saw were her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes. And he knew in that moment, that he was in love with this girl. He had been born to be her lover, no more, no less in the eyes of the world. Though he knew he would be much more than just a lover to her, though only the two of them may know it. It was love at first sight, though it felt like it had been planned for all eternity.

But then her eyes turned away, though the smirk stayed on her lips. Shaken from what he'd just experienced, Draco licked his lips nervously as the girl walked to the dais. She accepted Lord Voldemort's arm and he led her to the center of the platform.

"Okay," he admitted, "She's not my birth daughter." Some of the confused looks dissipated, but his comment created more confusion than there had been before. "But," Lord Voldemort continued, "I consider her as such, and that is how she will be treated." He grinned sickeningly, his eyes dancing. "My Death Eaters, please meet," Draco thought the man looked quite mad now, "your new Dark Lady." The crowd gasped, and the hairline control Lord Voldemort had on them broke. They began whispering amongst themselves.

Draco, though, had eyes only for the girl, and she turned to stand on tiptoe and whisper something in Voldemort's ear. He frowned and said something quietly back to her, disapproving. She murmured something back, smiling reassuringly and clutching his arm hopefully. He nodded reluctantly. She stepped away from him, grinning brilliantly and he pulled her back, asking her something. She answered him confidently, and he seemed to light up with pride before announcing the dancing could begin. An orchestra started up, sounding out a waltz. Slowly, couples began to dance, still murmuring to one another.

The girl stayed up on the dais, though Voldemort vanished into the crowd. She seemed hesitant, and upon closer inspection, her smile looked pasted on. With a jolt, he realized she probably knew no one there. Biting her lip, she looked achingly familiar as he walked up to the dais.

Catching her eye, he beckoned to her. She glanced around as a guilty child does for their parent before she scuttled over to him. She towered over him on the dais and crouched to equal their heights before seeming to realize it was improper (and probably not good for her dress) and standing again, bending over to him. He laughed silently at her antics before hiding his amusement so he'd not anger her. "Would you like to dance?" he asked up to her, smiling disarmingly.

She bit her lip again, and he ached to know who she reminded him of, and then she nodded. He reached up his hand, and she hesitated before taking it. He led her to the steps, and she flowed down them gracefully.

They danced, and Draco began to feel the silence between them awkward. "So—" he began, but she cut him off.

"Do you recognize me?"

He was startled by the question, but covered it. "I…no. You seem familiar, but I can't place it."

She smiled smugly. "Good. This'll be fun." His stomach seemed to kiss his shoes, and he looked at their feet. He felt her gaze upon him, heard her intake of breath to speak…and then she stopped everything, seeming to reconsider. Draco pulled her back into the waltz as she thought.

"Never mind," she grunted to him. He raised his eyebrows and suddenly understood. She had been _scared _up on that dais, all alone, and he had rescued her. "I'll say it cleanly and be done with it." She eyed him in annoyance. "Why did you have to be so nice?" She gave a hearty sigh. The song ended, and she drew back. When he made a move to reclaim her as his dance partner, she shook her head grimly, "you won't want to."

Draco was confused. He'd felt a connection with her. Why wouldn't he want to dance with her? She met his eyes squarely. "You must promise me you won't tell anyone at Hogwarts. Not even other Death Eaters' children." He looked at her warily. "Promise!" she said fiercely.

"I promise," he choked out.

She leaned close, pressing her cheek to his to speak into his ear. "You thought I looked familiar. Let me give you a name for that face." She drew back and met his eyes squarely. A niggling thought in the back of his head…

"Hermione Granger."

That was all it took. He stepped back in shock. Mind reeling, he recalled her entrance. _Made to be her lover my ass, _he thought. He needed to remember this next time he let his imagination loose. _I can't believe I let myself dream of this…this Mudblood!_ Her eyes narrowed as if he'd said the word aloud.

"I am no more and no less than your precious Lord Voldemort," she snarled, stalking off to sit on the smaller of two thrones now on the dais, leaving him shocked, amazed, puzzled, and completely without recollection that he was to be initiated that night.

* * *

_The best part of "Believe" is the "Lie"_

—Fall Out Boy "Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year"


	4. Chapter 3: The Price To Be The Dark Lady

Author's note: I was bored today, so I was poking around on and I managed to find (trumpet) Hermione's birthday! And, with that, her true age. Hermione's birthday is on September the 19th, and she should be 17 years old by now, because Rowling said somewhere that she was closer to 12 at the beginning of the first book. So…yay for me! Unfortunately though, I have already passed her birthday in this story. However, if it continues on to seventh year, I will try to remember to not miss it again.

CHAPTER 3: The Cost To Be The Dark Lady

He returned to her later that night. He had tried to make do without her, seeking admittance among the adults, asking several of the older women to dance with him. While they did not all refuse, it was obvious that it was awkward between him and any partner. Hermione knew, because she watched him.

_Oh, the annoying _prat! She thought. He had ruined all of her nicely laid plans be asking her to dance. She had been ready to flaunt how much better she was at everything, rub in all the horrible things she was doing, just to see his shock and amazement and hurt. But he'd ruined that by asking her to dance, saving her from all these people she didn't know, and saving her from the humiliation of standing alone on the dais all night.

In the two hours he'd been gone, only three others had asked her to dance, and as between Malfoy and the older ladies he danced with, conversation was dysfunctional. And now he stood at the edge of the dais again, gazing at her beseechingly.

Hermione met his eyes, and she knew that though her expression was level, she gazed at him just as imploringly as he looked at her.

They reached an unspoken agreement. This time they would both save each other. At only 16, neither fit into this crowd of Death Eaters, the youngest of which (besides Hermione) was in his late twenties. She rose from her throne and walked to the steps, allowing him to lead her down them. They danced, and he held her as far away from him as was possible without being rude.

"You can't tell them, you know. No matter how mad you get at me," she told him in the middle of a waltz.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why?" she repeated. "Because if they find out, I won't be able to spy on them and relate information."

"Yes, I figured that out. I meant why are you doing this? Why are you here?" he drawled, though she could see he was truly interested.

"Well, that's a first," she muttered.

"What?" he asked, suddenly alert.

"You're actually interested in what I have to say." Malfoy looked shocked, then appalled. He opened his mouth to deny it, and she raised her eyebrows. His protests died and he just shrugged.

"Anyway, I'd rather not talk about why I'm doing this," she said, looking away. Then she turned back to Malfoy. "All I'll say is that I'm all for my decision."

He looked perplexed, but as she offered up no other explanation, he didn't ask for one. The silence grew. "Thank you," she said, not meeting his eyes. She had been terrified all night of these people that she didn't know, who weren't like her. But somehow, with Malfoy, it wasn't as bad.

"Is the initiation bad?" he asked.

The suddenness of the question caught her off guard, and she actually laughed out loud, thinking of her own initiation. "Actually, no, it's really simple." Something rang in her memory. "Voldemort said that most new Death Eaters know what to expect because their parents tell them about it. Didn't your father tell you about it?" she asked, interested.

Malfoy shook his head. "Father is…different. He doesn't tell me much about his personal life. I think he's guilty about everything he's done." Clearly thinking he'd said too much, he stopped. Hermione pretended not to notice.

"But…but isn't he your sponsor?"

Malfoy gave a short bark of laughter. "No, my mum is vouching for me for Death Eater-ship. Father's more of a businessman. But, in fact," he tilted his head as if thinking, "it's mum that scares me more."

Hermione blinked. She hadn't expected this. Then she craned her neck around, upsetting the dance she'd forgotten they were doing. "Your mum's here?"

"Well, of course. She's a Death Eater too. Best friends with Bellatrix, even."

"Bellatrix?" Hermione asked faintly, still looking for Narcissa. Then she snapped to attention. "Bellatrix _Lestrange_?"

He laughed at her stricken expression. "How many other Bellatrixes do you know?"

Hermione shrugged, "But your mum was so nice. Strict, certainly, but nice." She stifled a gasp as she realized that somehow during their conversation, his grip on her had relaxed, and he no longer held her at arm's length.

Malfoy shook his head, "she's not, usually. She must've considered you important or liked you, probably—wait, how do you know my mum?"

"She took me shopping for my dress, but she won't remember me now, we erased her memory. Couldn't let people find out about me before tonight, you know."

He nodded. "I want you to see the garden," he said. Surprised, she looked up at him. He looked just as surprised as she. As if on cue, the song ended. She bit her lip, remembering.

"But I'm the guest of honor. And in this dress," she looked ruefully down at the blood-colored dress, "My disappearance will most likely be noted."

"Ah. Maybe next time then," he said, smiling crookedly. She nodded. A clock somewhere struck 11.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "Your initiation will be starting soon, Malfoy. You should come up with me onto the dais. Father will be glad to not have to look for you." She paused at the ease that had come with calling Voldemort her father. Malfoy looked equally shocked, and let her take him up onto the dais, where Voldemort already awaited them.

"Ah, Chicklet, you brought Mr. Malfoy for his initiation. Thank you; it's greatly appreciated." The gratitude in his voice was clear, and she glowed with it, bobbing a curtsy.

Hermione stood between Malfoy and Lord Voldemort. The crowd hushed, looking up at the trio expectantly. "Ah, now, we have one last item of business to attend to. Young Mr. Malfoy here is to be initiated. Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, and…" he scanned the crowd. "Ah, Avery, will you three bear witness to—"

"Three?" someone shouted incredulously from the crowd. "There's supposed to be four!"

Voldemort turned in the general direction of the speaker, "You dare suggest my daughter is unworthy of bearing testimony as a witness?"

Another voice from somewhere else piped up, "But she hasn't been initiated!"

Voldemort's gaze turned in that direction. Hermione stood haughtily between the two male Malfoys and sneered at the crowd. "Yes, she has," Voldemort, waving his wand to make a magnified copy of her initiation arise above their heads. "Any more protests?"

Crabbe or Goyle (she couldn't tell which) grunted, "I don't remember that."

Voldemort sneered, and Avery (who had obviously figured it out) winced in sympathy, "Of course you don't. We modified your memory so you wouldn't tell anyone about her before today."

"ANY more protests?" Voldemort looked around, but people merely looked shocked that Crabbe (Goyle?) hadn't been tortured where he stood and didn't speak.

"Good," Lord Voldemort smiled, which looked odd on his snake-like features as it wasn't a vicious grin. "Now, Wormtail! Give me the veritaserum!" Pettigrew walked up onto the dais, handing Voldemort the vial before getting lost in the crowd again.

"Chicklet, would you do the honors?" he asked, handing her the vial.

"Open up," she murmured to Malfoy. Obligingly, he did, and she poured the clear liquid down his throat.

Voldemort began the questioning. Hermione, standing on Malfoy's other side, could see he was nervous. It was then that she realized how stressful initiations usually were. In front of a crowd, being forced to answer everything truthfully. Imagine the possibilities for embarrassment! You had only your blind trust in your interrogator to hold onto. And anyone would be crazy to trust Voldemort completely.

She'd gotten off easy. She'd known from the beginning that their memories would be altered. She hadn't been the focus of about two hundred people; merely five. She didn't have parents to please (Voldemort didn't count), who could be shunned and laughed at if she messed up.

And then getting the Dark Mark…she shivered, remembering her own. If you cried or did anything but take the pain in silence, you would be labeled as something you may not be, and possibly laughed at.

The talking stopped, and Hermione looked up. "Well done," Voldemort said. He conjured up a golden cup with ebony flames that reminded Hermione of the Goblet of Fire.

"Now, put your left forearm into the flames to receive the Dark Mark." Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't had to do that. _But then again, _she thought, _I couldn't very well put my back over the flames._ Malfoy glanced at her apprehensively. She nodded at him slightly. He set his face and thrust his arm into the black flames. Malfoy's eyes widened in pain, and he opened his mouth to scream, and then clamped his jaws shut, wincing. Hermione assumed he'd bitten his tongue.

Abruptly, the flames went out. The audience clapped enthusiastically as Voldemort held up Malfoy's arm to show the Dark Mark.

Then he conjured up the papers, finally taking down the magnified copy of her own initiation. The six of them (Malfoy included) signed the paper, then Voldemort added "Draco Malfoy" to the list of Death Eaters. She glanced at Malfoy. He looked shaken but pleased, and his parents smiled at him proudly. She felt a pang of jealousy and edged closer to Voldemort. She had two parents too, even if they weren't acquainted.

People began to leave after giving their newest member their compliments and greetings. By midnight, the only people left were the Malfoys and Hermione, Lord Voldemort, and Wormtail.

She didn't notice the similarities between Peter Pettigrew's story and her own.

"Well, time for you two to get back to school," Voldemort said, handing them a portkey. Malfoy quickly said his goodbyes to his parents and held onto the other side of the bowl just before there was a jerk behind her navel and they were gone.

The next thing they knew, they were at the Shrieking Shack. Hermione pulled her cloak tighter about herself in a sudden chill wind. They were both very tired by now, more so because they were going home. Teenagers may have the ability to stay up until dawn at a party, but on the return home, they tend to lag as all their energy drains. Such was the case here, so they plodded wearily through Hogsmeade.

"So…the Dark Lady, huh? Big title for a 16-year-old," he said, grinning. She snorted in reply. "Hermione Granger, I do believe I have misjudged you more than anyone else in my whole life."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she asked him.

Malfoy shrugged, "You figure it out." He met her eyes with a smile, and suddenly the moment was awkward. Silence snapped them up in its jaws.

"So, did you like my house?" he asked, just as she said, "We can't be friends, you know."

Her jaw dropped at his question, though, and so he took the chance to say, "Of course not. Besides the fact that we're supposed to be enemies, none of your Gryffindor buddies would accept me, and none of…" he paused, and she knew what he was thinking. She was the Dark Lady. Of course the Slytherins would accept her, if they knew.

"You can't tell them either. I can't trust them to keep it a secret. It'll leak out," she said.

"And you trust me?" Malfoy asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well, no," she blushed, "But…" she touched his left forearm, then continued, "But you know the cost if you tell." Seeing the sense in it, he nodded.

"Why _did _you tell me, anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "You would have recognized me sooner or later. And if it was later, and I didn't tell you when I did, who knows how many people you would've told before I got to you."

"Well, yes, but I may have never put it all together, because…well, I'd never expect you to be doing _this_." He gestured, trying to include everything in the sweep of his arms.

"So," she said, "That was your house."

"That was my house," he agreed.

"Why on earth do you have a ballroom in your house?"

Malfoy smirked. "Because we could." By now they were making their way up the steps. They reached the doors, and Hermione thanked him one last time.

"You're welcome," he said. "And I'm sorry in advance for calling you a know-it-all bushy-haired Mudblood tomorrow." Her eyes drooped sadly, but she nodded. It had to be done; Harry and Ron couldn't suspect anything.

They parted ways in the Entrance Hall. Hermione turned halfway up the stairs to look at Malfoy. He, too, had stopped to look at her, and she waved to him across the dim Hall. He waved back, and they went their separate ways.

There are some things that you can't share without liking each other, and finding someone your age in a ballroom full of older people (not to mention Death Eaters) is one of them.

Hermione walked down the corridor with a spring in her step, eager to get back to her dorm, into her comfy pajamas and into bed.

Unfortunately, she would have to wait a little longer. She stepped into the common room, and headed the girl's staircase, when, "Where have you been?"

The voice was cold and pained. Slowly, she spun on one heel to find Ron and Harry waiting for her. She grimaced.

Ron's turn to speak, "You told us you were feeling ill. We were _worried _about you. So we sent Parvati to see how you were, if you needed anything. Apparently, your bed hadn't been touched, and you were nowhere to be found. Hermione, where were you?"

"Obviously at a party," Ginny said coldly. Hermione hadn't noticed her before. She ground the heels of her palms into her eyes. This could _not _be happening.

"Why didn't you just tell us you were going to a party?" Harry asked.

"I didn't want to make you feel left out," she said slowly. "But…I guess I just wasn't thinking. Sorry guys," she said quietly. She cursed her great mind for deserting her now.

Ron sighed and gave her a hug, "It's okay, just tell us next time. We were worried sick," he chided. Hermione nodded, pulling from his grasp to dart up the stairs to her dormitory. Closing the door behind her, she finally shed her cloak only to realize she was still wearing the dress. She'd left her clothes at Malfoy Manor! With a groan, she sank into her bed.

"Ooh, what a pretty dress! Were you at a party?" Lavender squealed at her. Parvati appeared too, to whistle at her dress.

Hermione nodded dumbly. "You look tired. Lav, we'll grill her about it in the morning. Goodnight!" Their lights winked off in unison, leaving Hermione confused, hungry (she hadn't eaten all night and was only just feeling it), and tired. In a haze, she peeled out of her gown, draping it over her trunk, and slid her pajamas on, finally falling into bed to be asleep before her head hit the pillow.

* * *

Harry and Ron exchanged glances as Hermione left. Ron turned to Ginny, "Out, Ginny, please." She looked to the two of them, then sniffed and left in a huff. 

Harry sank into a chair as Ron paced. "What are we going to do about her?" Harry asked, head in his hands.

"I know what you mean, mate. First the train, now this…" Ron shook his head.

"She's different. Something's wrong, I can feel it," Harry said.

"Exactly," Ron said.

"I don't think Krum is the reason she got a tattoo," Harry said. Ron shook his head in agreement. "I think it's something deeper than that."

Harry and Ron shared a glance again. In that glance was an agreement, a promise. They would find out what had happened.

"So…that's settled, then," Ron said. "Harry, when do you think…?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I really don't know, Ron. But all I can say is try to catch her at a time when we haven't locked her in a train compartment or just confronted her about coming late from a party and making us worry to death."

Ron nodded, but sighed. "I don't want to wait for her that long, though. I mean," he said, wincing, "I don't want to wait to have her be my girl for that long. I'd wait for her forever," he said. "Or, at least," he added sensibly, "that's what it feels like." He stared vacantly into the fire and jumped when Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon, mate, we're all tired. Let's go to bed." Ron nodded his agreement and they made their way to their dormitory.

* * *

Hermione woke late the next morning. She glanced at the clock to see she'd already missed breakfast and still had an hour and a half before lunch. But for her, food could not wait at the moment. Her thoughts went to Malfoy—had he eaten? She assumed he hadn't eaten last night, but the real question was if he'd woken up early enough to eat this morning. She shrugged—why should she care if he ate or not? But now she'd thought of him, she couldn't leave him without food if he hadn't eaten breakfast. Quickly, she penned a note— 

_I missed breakfast, didn't know if you did too, but if you did the kitchens are behind the portrait of a bowl of fruit in a broad corridor off to the left of the Entrance Hall if you're coming down the stairs. Tickle the pear._

_Signed,_

_DL_

She used the initials for Dark Lady and hoped he would get the hint. They couldn't let people think they were actually corresponding with one another.

Frowning, she realized it would be out of her way to go to the owlery. But when she thought of the other options—have a house elf deliver it or deliver it for herself—she decided her stomach would just have to wait. Sighing, she dragged on a school robe over her pajamas, not caring if anyone happened to notice, and left her dormitory.

She headed to the owlery, using some secret passages to shorten the time. Finally there, she picked an alert school owl and tied the letter to its leg, telling it to find Draco Malfoy. It hooted softly at her before setting off to its task. Hoping it would find Malfoy okay, she returned to the corridor and went directly to the kitchens. Checking no one else was in the hall, she tickled the pear. The portrait swung open, and she walked in—to see Draco Malfoy sitting at a table licking honey from his fingers.

"How'd you get here so fast?" she asked, flabbergasted.

"What do you mean? How did _you _get here so fast?" he asked.

"But I only just sent you the owl telling you where the kitchens were!" she said.

"Really? You thought I didn't know where the kitchens were?" he asked incredulously.

"And what do you mean how did _I _get here so fast?"

"I only just sent you an owl giving you directions to the kitchen."

She snorted, "And you thought _I _didn't know where the kitchens were!" They looked at each other then, realizing at the same time the hilarity of the situation. They had both sent each other owls to tell the other person where the kitchen was. They burst into laughter.

Hermione gained control of herself first. "Thanks for thinking of me," she said softly.

"Same to you," he said. "D'you want some toast? Or bacon, sausage, eggs, anything? I've got far too much here," he indicated the table laden with food in front of him.

"Toast would be nice," she said. Several house elves rushed over, bringing toast. She closed her eyes and resisted the urge to smack her forehead. She'd forgotten they were in the kitchen.

She opened her eyes and accepted three slices of toast before settling herself on a stool across the low table from Malfoy. She began her second slice of toast before she noticed what Malfoy was doing. She put her toast down, watching him slather a slice of toast with honey and then scoop scrambled eggs on top of it. And he was eating it! She watched in horrified fascination as he finished one slice of toast, honey and eggs and began making another one. He took a bite of this second piece of eggs-on-honey-on-toast before noticing her disgusted look.

"What?" he asked, spraying toast and honey and eggs everywhere.

"That," she pointed to his doctored toast, "is gross." She brushed some of the stuff he'd spit off the table, earning herself a sticky hand. She looked around for something to wash up with, finally just pulling out her wand and casting a small spell to clean it off.

"Oh, right!" she exclaimed, remembering. "Malfoy, I forgot my clothes at your house last night…?"

"Yes, I know," he said, swallowing before he spoke this time. "My father owled them to me this morning, which is why I thought to write you before coming down here." He took another bite of his toast-_thing _and she couldn't hide the nauseous feeling it gave her. He swallowed, smirking, "Grossed out yet?" he asked her. There was a challenge in his eye, and she gaped to see it.

Her jaw shut with a snap and she smirked back at him. She looked at the table around them, trying to think up something grosser than what he was eating. She spied a pitcher of orange juice and grabbed a piece of toast, dunking it in until it was soggy. Then she grabbed a bottle of ketchup and poured it on her toast, topping it off with several slices of bacon. She nearly gagged when she ate a bite of it, but hid it before he could see it and swallowed her bite. She raised her eyebrows at him in challenge, taking another bite.

He smirked, accepting her challenge. He called over one of the hovering house elves and asked for something as she continued to eat her nauseating toast. As soon as he ate his own concoction, she could put this thing down. A minute later, the house elf returned with several bananas, a small cup of yogurt and another small bowl of peanut butter. Smirking again, Malfoy took a sausage and cut it down the middle so it reminded Hermione of a hot dog bun, then he piled the inside with honey, yogurt, and peanut butter, then sliced the banana and put some of that on top of it.

She grimaced when he bit into it, and the grossed-out look on his face was priceless. But just as she had, he continued to eat it anyways. She set down her own unfinished toast happily and thought for something else she could eat. Her thoughts raced back, and she remembered something she had eaten regularly as a kid. Grinning wildly, she asked a house elf for some mustard. She'd have to modify it, of course, but it would probably create the effect she wanted. She took two slices of toast, slathering one slice with mustard, and the other with strawberry jam. She reached over and took the yogurt that Malfoy hadn't used and put that on top of the mustard.

She looked around, feeling the need for something more on her sandwich. Malfoy was already looking disgusted with her sandwich, but she just wanted something more…she whispered something to an elf, and it ran off, coming back a second later with a bar of Honeydukes chocolate. She pressed that into the middle, taking a huge bite. Malfoy put his sausage down joyfully, searching for something to make something new with.

Hermione waited patiently, musing that without the mustard, this sandwich might not taste that bad. Malfoy waved off the house elves and searched the kitchen himself, coming back a couple minutes later with a bowl of cold tomato soup. He sat down and pointed out what was in it, "Uncooked noodles, walnuts, Spanish olives, Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans." He took a bite, and she could hear the uncooked noodles crunching as he chewed. Suddenly he froze, couching violently, his face turning red. When he finally caught his breath, he looked at her. "Whatever flavor that bean was, it was really spicy." Hermione looked at him sympathetically as he took another bite. She watched him eat one more.

Four bites of that soupy thing. She had to come up with something. She asked a house elf for a stick of butter, apologizing to her stomach. She cut out the middle of the butter, making a well in it. She poured honey down that well, then poured a ton of salt over the whole thing, making it a white mound. Already feeling sick, she did herself a favor and cut off the excess butter around the well. She lifted it off the table, looking hopelessly at Malfoy.

She took a bite, and felt like she was going to vomit. Coughing horrendously, she put the butter-thing down, looking to Malfoy. "You win, because I'm not going to eat that." He nodded sympathetically, and they looked around the table at the half-eaten tools of their contest. She started laughing first, then he joined in, and before she knew it, she was crouched on the ground, unable to sit up any longer, with tears streaming from her eyes. "How stupid we are! What an idiotic competition!"

Malfoy was laughing just as hard, choking out an agreement. But then suddenly his face went slack. "This is too weird," she barely heard him mutter as he rushed out of the room. Stomach protesting this hard treatment loudly, she stood and looked over the table, saying, "Is there any way I could help with…" She trailed off, catching sight of an odd creature. It was a short thing with about 2 or 3 feet of colorful layers, with discolored feet several sizes too large for its body and several scarves. "Oh _my_," she breathed. It was Dobby, and it looked like he was wearing nearly every stitch of what she'd made last year.

"Dobby?" she said tremulously.

"Miss Hermione! Dobby did not recognize you with your hair! Dobby thought you were one of the Slytherin girls! Do you need something?" he said. It hurt her to see he was wearing nearly all of her clothes.

"Dobby, why are you wearing all of my hats and socks and scarves?" she asked.

"Dobby does not wear all of them, no!" he said, shaking his head emphatically. "Dobby has been giving them to Winky too, Miss! None of the other house elves would take them, Miss! Dobby has been having to clean the Gryffindor tower all by himself all last year, Miss! But Dobby doesn't mind, because he may get the chance to see Harry Potter and his kind friends that way, Miss!"

Feeling like she'd just been punched in the stomach, she patted Dobby on the back and left.

Not wanting to run into Harry or Ron, she opted to go to the library rather than go to her dormitory. She went in, realizing she had no supplies to do anything with. She plodded over to Madam Pince's desk and begged a four-foot roll of parchment and a quill and ink from her, settling at a table in the back to do a potions essay. She was so immersed in her essay that she hardly realized when a shadow fell across her work.

"Hey, Granger" a voice next to her ear said. _This _she noticed, and jumping, looked up.

"Malfoy," she said, surprised. He handed her a squishy package, then looked over the three and a half feet she'd written.

His eyes widened. "Is that Snape's essay on dragon heartstring use in potions?"

"Yeah, so?" she asked guardedly.

"It's only supposed to be three feet, you know."

She sniffed. "I know, but I haven't yet gotten to the ill effects of it when used with a bezoar that hasn't been soaked for at least 72 hours in a mixture of dragon's blood and monkshod, because, as you should know, that's the only way it can be used in combination with dragon heartstring, or your potion will reject it and it will go up in a foul-smelling smoke that takes months to clear out," she said, frowning. She wasn't sure if that half-foot was enough to explain that and several other items of information she hadn't been able to fit into the other three and a half feet.

"Really?" Malfoy asked, looking astonished, "I didn't know that."

"Well now you do." Malfoy looked up at the door.

"Know-it-all," he said, but he didn't say it harshly like he used to. Indeed, it sounded more like a term of endearment. "I gotta go. But you may want to do something with your hair. It still looks like it did last night, and people may…ah, jump to conclusions if their parents have told them of a young girl with curled red-streaked brown hair who just happens to bear the title…" he trailed off, not wanting to say it where they were, and she nodded, rolling up her parchment and putting away the book she had been using. She returned the quill and ink to Madam Pince and went to the nearest Prefects bathroom to see what she could do with her hair.

* * *

Draco drifted back to his common room, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. He had a lot of mixed feelings about Granger right now, and they were all so bewildering! He wished things were back to the way they were, so he could just hate her and be done with it. But that was when he had been her superior, and now it turned out that, though his blood was purer, she had a higher ranking than he could ever wish for. They couldn't be friends, but isn't that what they'd been acting like this whole time? Ever since last night it had all been a bundle of laughs. 

And he didn't like it. Not that he minded laughter and fun, of course. It was just that he didn't know what to make of her. Furthermore, their two houses had had a rivalry for hundreds of years. It was obvious she belonged in Slytherin, but she wasn't, and that worried him. Then again, something might have happened and changed her from what she was before. It just didn't make sense to him, and it certainly didn't help that she'd been his enemy for 5 long years.

He reached the wall to go into Slytherin, but paused. He'd been missed last night, and he didn't want questions. So instead of going in, he continued down the hall to find an empty classroom to think in.

* * *

Hermione returned to her dormitory to find two owls on her bed. One was a large eagle owl—Malfoy's. She took the letter from its leg and reached out tentatively to pet it, but it nipped at her finger and soared off through the open window. She opened the letter, reading on it directions to the kitchen and a reminder that he needed to get her clothes to her sometime. She dismissed this letter and turned to the other one. She looked at the seal and grinned happily. It was Voldemort, probably writing to tell her how last night had gone in the eyes of the Death Eaters. She opened it eagerly, reading: 

_Most of the D.E.s last night were satisfied that you are my daughter, but I snuck around and listened to what they were saying when they thought I was not listening. They need for you to prove yourself, a show if you will. I fear they will not wait long before bringing this to my attention, calling you unworthy until you have done so._

_Think of a date for this…ceremony, if you will, and I will see that it works and get the invitations out. Write back soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Tom_

Hermione dropped the letter on the bed, understanding what this meant. They wanted her to prove herself to them—by torturing someone.

* * *

_Condemned from the start_

—Fall Out Boy "Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year"


	5. Chapter 4: Louis Frunge

A/N: I finished Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince the day I got it, and it was so good. This won't really give anything away, but I just want you all to notice (when you're done with the book) that my Drakey-poo does have a heart. Don't worry, this shouldn't spoil anything.

CHAPTER 4: Louis Frunge

Hermione stared at her ceiling, trying as hard as she could to not look at the letter lying on her stomach. But occasionally she snuck glances at it anyways, and was forced to stifle her wails in a pillow. She couldn't believe it. Her, torture someone? She wasn't sure she could do it. Slowly, she rose from the bed, rummaging through her book bag for a quill and piece of parchment.

_Father, I have misgivings about this. I don't know what to do. I don't know _how _to do it. I don't know anything about doing what you have asked of me. I suppose I could do it on the second Friday of next month, maybe the first Friday. But I'll need help getting prepared for it. Please tell me what I'll be doing._

_Sincerely,_

_Your daughter_

She looked it over. Her letters were shaky, and the parchment was a little rumpled, but it was readable. She put it in an envelope and went, for the second time that day, to the owlry, finding a sturdy bird to carry it for her. She wandered aimlessly through the halls, not quite believing what had just been asked of her. She bumped into people, who looked at her funny at her listless apology.

Slowly, she made her way to the room of requirement. She was unsure of what she wanted, but she did as Harry had once instructed her, thinking, _I need somewhere to rest, relax, and forget, I need somewhere to rest, relax, and forget, I need somewhere to rest, relax and forget._ Before long, it became her mantra, and she forgot what she was doing. The sound of people talking echoed down the corridor, and she realized what she was doing, quickly slipping into the door that had appeared. She closed it with a snap and locked it behind her to find a bathroom much like the prefect's baths. She grinned, and quite agreed with the room that a relaxing bath would help her.

Unhurriedly, she stripped off her clothing, folding it some way from the pool. Remembering her hair, she reversed the charm that had held it in curled perfection, realizing she would just have to deal with the red streaks until she could finally get that magazine again and remove them. Smiling, she found the correct faucet, filling the bath with mint-scented foam, and then added rosemary-scented bubbles to the mix. The room smelled delightfully rich now, and Hermione settled herself into the tub, her hair fanning out around her. Drowsily, she looked at it, and thought that she rather liked the streaks.

Hermione let the steam curl around her, and relaxed for the first time in nearly a week. She pushed thoughts of the upcoming torture away with little effort, it being easily forgotten amid the bubbles and foam she rested in.

* * *

Draco got up from where he lounged across two desks. He'd been staring at the ceiling this whole time, seeing written upon it his thoughts and worries. He stretched languorously, like a cat, thinking he could do with a bath right then. His muscles were aching from where they had rested across two desks, and he looked around the room, stifling a laugh. All the other desks were dirty, he'd cleaned these two before laying on them, and in comparison to the others, it looked quite funny, as they were all dirty with vacancy, and only these two stood out clean. He left the room.

He wandered through the halls, thinking which prefect's bathroom to use. But he wanted to be more alone than a prefect's bath. Sure, he could lock the door, but even so, he wanted somewhere that was personal to him, not where someone else could go. His owl came to him as he turned down a corridor, handing him a letter. Stopping to read it, he realized he was in front of the room of requirement. He smirked, this would do perfectly.

Pacing back and forth, he thought, _I need a bath, I need a bath, I need a bath. _Looking up, a door was now on the wall, and he grinned, turning the knob. It was locked! Confused, he pulled out his wand, "_Alohomora,_" he murmured. He heard the click of a lock, and opened the door. He closed it behind him, and relocked it, wondering why it had been locked in the first place. A shrill cry of surprise made him turn around. There was a small splash as someone went underwater, and he watched as a line of foam and bubbles in the bath rose as someone let out a breath underwater. Wondering, he looked around, finding clothes some way away from the tub, and a wand near the edge.

A head popped up next to the wand, reaching for it frantically only to make it roll across the floor out of her reach. He recognized the streaked hair, and his mouth dropped. Of all the people he could have walked in on, it had to be her. "Malfoy, turn around now before I hex you to next month."

He smirked, "Sorry, I don't take orders from anyone but my master," he said, giving her a mocking bow and raising the sleeve on his left arm. He ignored the scrape of pain as the sleeve rubbed across his new Dark Mark. Her jaw dropped, not at the Mark, but at his words.

"Malfoy, if you don't turn around now, I'll tell him, and he'll—"

He cut her off. "You'll tell him what? That the big, bad, Draco happened to walk in on you while you were bathing? What's he gonna do to me? Tell me off for coming into a room no one is supposed to know about and that I didn't expect you in?"

She gave a low growl, and he knew he was proceeding into dangerous territory. But he was having too much fun to back down now. "Malfoy, _turn around!_" she snarled desperately. He just gave her his smirk, loving how her jaw dropped and her eyes blazed. With a snarl of annoyance, she ducked underwater, coming back up with her hair over her shoulders, and heaved herself up onto the side of the pool, snatching up her wand. Her hair was just long enough to cover most of her chest, and what it didn't, her arm did, so he didn't manage to see anything but her side and back.

Giving him a smirk of superiority, she aimed her wand at him. Muttering something under her breath, he quickly said, "Protego!" Her jinx bounced off his shield, and it dissolved, but before he could replace it, one of her other jinxes slipped through. Immediately, his feet dropped from under him as he crashed to the floor, laughing hysterically. She'd hit him with a Tickling Charm. Caught up with his laughter, he didn't manage to procure a shield in time for her to cast a Bubblehead Charm on him. The Tickling Charm disappeared immediately.

"_Petrificus Totalus,_" he heard this time, and he went board-stiff and fell the rest of the way to the floor. "_Accio wand,_" she said, and his wand flew to her. She placed it on the edge of the tub. "_Locomotor_," she murmured, and he was directed into the tub by her wand. Panicking, he went under the surface of the water only to notice that he could breathe. Clearly that was what the Bubblehead Charm had been for earlier. He was unable to hear what she said next, but the surface of the water seemed to become hard (the ripples that he had made getting in the water had gone suddenly, which was why he assumed this), and the water turned very cold.

He hung there for a good five minutes, forcing himself to be calm. Being trapped under the water, only being sustained by a Bubblehead Charm was not the most comforting thing, and while he wasn't normally prone to it, he was getting rather claustrophobic. But then the water warmed, and he was being lifted again to the surface. Granger stood calmly at the edge, fully clothed but for her robe, and her hair dripped water on her clothes. Clearly, she'd brushed it, and it hung in a straight, shining curtain around her. She didn't look too bad when her hair wasn't bushy. She directed him to the edge of the pool with her wand, undoing all of her charms, and without another word, headed to the door.

"Wait," he said, surprising himself. She turned to face him, raising her eyebrows as a question. He didn't know what to say now. The words came hard at his throat, but he choked them down, refusing to apologize. "I…er…" his words died in his throat. She looked away, but she didn't look like she was going to leave.

"They want me to torture someone," she whispered, looking distantly at something only she could see. He looked at her, and then he understood.

"Is that what the meeting is for?" he asked.

"Meeting?" she asked, "When?"

"In two weeks. And at my Manor again, I think." He reached into his pocket and a look of disgust crossed his features as he pulled out the letter his owl had delivered to him. He threw the wad of paper down onto the floor with a squelching sound, and realized he was still dripping wet. Sneering, he peeled off his robe, and then, with a glance at Granger, took off his shirt too.

He hung his clothes on a hook, taking off his shoes and socks as well. He hesitated, then took off his pants too, transfiguring his boxers into swim trunks. He turned back to Granger to see she'd turned her back to give him some privacy. Draco snorted. "My clothes had better be dry by the time I'm done swimming," he said.

Granger turned back to him, looking affronted. "No," she said defiantly, "I'm not your servant."

"Yes, but, see, you're the fault my clothes are wet in the first place."

"No, it's your fault," she argued. "If you'd just turned your back when I asked you to, I wouldn't have needed to trap you in the pool."

He opened his mouth to retort, but couldn't seem to come up with something to say. Sniffing, he dove into the pool, getting lost under the foam and bubbles Granger had put there. He began to swim laps in the huge tub, knowing that Granger watched his every move. Pausing on the edge, he asked her, "Why don't you have the Dark Mark?"

Looking confused, she said, "I do."

He looked down at her unfettered left arm. "No, you don't." She followed his gaze, then let out surprised laughter.

"It's on my back." He was astonished, having never heard of such a thing. He remembered seeing a little black something on her shoulder when she'd lunged out of the pool to get her wand.

"On your shoulder?" Draco asked dubiously. It had been pretty small. She shook her head, then came over to where he held onto the edge of the pool, and turned around, pulling up the back of her shirt a little. He levered himself up out of the water a little to examine it. There it was, a miniature version of the Dark Mark that was etched into his arm. He lowered himself back into the water.

"Then what was that on your shoulder?" he asked. He knew he had seen something there.

"That's just my tattoo," she said, not meeting his eyes.

"What's it of?" he asked.

"A star," she said, looking oddly grim. "And if you tell anyone about that, I'll hex you so badly you'll wish you'd never said anything. Maybe I'll just leave you wandless with a Bubblehead Charm under the frozen surface of a pool," she said cruelly.

His eyes widened. _She had frozen the top of the pool? _"You _froze _the pool with me under the water?" he stammered, stunned.

She looked at him guiltily, "Yes, but it was only the top six inches or so."

"Only…" he repeated, looking out at the water. He felt rather sick now, and had no more desire to swim. Draco pulled himself from the water, suddenly shivering.

"I wouldn't have left you there, you know," she said from right behind him. He jumped slightly at how close she was. He was scared of her now, and as usual, lashed out in anger

"Yeah, wouldn't have left me there unless I told someone about your tattoo. Or would you have done something else to me, Granger? Maybe left me under the water able to use my limbs, to see and feel the cage you'd trapped me in, able to swim around in that water. Or would you have made it so cold that I would be forced to swim, to prevent hypothermia and the complete breakdown of my own body, and sat there, watching my dark shadow move under the ice until I grew too tired to live anymore and died there, and _laughed _at me. Or would you just conveniently forget the Bubblehead Charm, leaving me there to drown, my fingers scrabbling at the ice, my lungs heaving for air. Yeah, you wouldn't have left me there. Not this time, but next time, maybe?" He sneered at her, at the stricken expression on her face, and knew he'd gone too far. Draco chided himself for taking out his fear at her thusly.

"Granger, look," he said, seeking to amend what he'd just done. But before he could get any further, she burst into tears, sinking down to the ground. _By Merlin's beard, _he thought, _what have I done? _"Granger?"

"Go away, Mal-Malfoy," she stuttered, "I don't w-want to talk to you," the last word came out a keening wail, and he flinched.

"No," he said fiercely, shocking her into looking up at him. "I'm going to apologize for what I've just done to you, and if I'm going to do that, you're damn well going to hear me out, because I don't apologize very often. And besides, I'm not going to leave you alone like this."

They sat in silence for some time, and she drew her knees up to her chest, tucking her head in between the two. "Do you really think I'm that heartless?" she asked softly. It was only because the room was utterly silent that he heard her at all. Draco's expression softened, and he hunkered down next to her.

"No, I don't. That's why I needed to apologize. I'm sorry," the words sounded odd to his ears. "I only said that stuff because…" he trailed off. He didn't want her to know he'd been scared of her. He had never heard of a charm powerful enough to freeze six inches of water in a matter of half a minute. That was why he was scared.

"Because you were scared," she finished for him. His head snapped up to look at her. _How had she known…?_ No matter. She knew, and that was that. "I know that expression. I've seen it too many times myself."

"I've never tortured someone," she said, pulling her head up and looking straight ahead. "And what you said I might do to you sounded one hell of a lot like torture to me. But I didn't think…I don't…" a tear slipped down her cheek, and he felt just as miserable as she did, he was sure of it. He wanted to brush away that tear, make it all better. But they weren't even friends. He kept his hands firmly on the ground for support, only then realizing he was still only in his transfigured swim trunks. He blushed slightly, but made no move to get up from where he crouched at her side.

"I _wouldn't _have forgotten you," she said fiercely. "Never. No matter if I hated you more than anyone else in the world, I wouldn't have forgotten you. Never." Another tear slipped down her cheek, and his hand jerked up and was halfway there before he realized it. Unable to turn the gesture into something else, he laid his hand on her shoulder.

"I know," he murmured comfortingly. "I know." But it didn't help. She burst into tears again, and instinctively turned into his touch, crying into his chest. He nearly panicked, having never had to deal with something like this before, but calmed himself down. Her tears were hot against his bare chest, and before long she pulled away, giving him a watery smile. Her sudden absence was startling, and with a pang he realized that he'd actually liked her being huddled up to his chest.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just…I don't know if I can do it."

Draco stood and walked over to where he'd hung his clothes nearly an hour earlier. They were still very wet. Frowning, he decided to put them on anyway and transfigured his swim trunks into the boxers they were originally. He reached for his pants only to find them gone. His shirt and robe too were making their way into Granger's arms. Feeling awkward in only his boxers, he transfigured them back with a sigh and sauntered over to the brunette.

As he neared, she muttered, "Honestly, you're just as hopeless as Harry and Ron." Twisting her wand in a complicated pattern, she began to dry his clothes both deftly and silently. In five minutes, she handed his pants back to him, just as dry as when he'd walked in. He stood and walked behind her, transfiguring his swimsuit into their original shape for the last time that day and pulled on his pants. They were still warm, he noted as he sat down beside her and watched her finish drying his shirt. He pulled it on and she turned to his robe with a frown. "You may want to just get a fresh robe," she advised. "This'll take longer to dry than your other clothes." He eyed it and the way it still dripped water in Granger's lap, even after an hour of drying.

"Yeah. Ah, well. Thank you for drying everything else," he said, and paused. It was his first heartfelt thanks in a long while. "Think you can teach me how though? That looks like a pretty useful spell."

Granger looked at him dubiously, then shrugged. She did the complicated twist in slow motion, and he tried to duplicate it. He failed miserably, though his dysfunctional twist had managed to spray water over the both of them. "I'm not sure how you managed _that_," she muttered, doing the twist again with her wand and aiming it at all the wet spots on her clothing. She hesitated when she came to him though, and he took off his shirt once again (it had gotten the most of the water), handing it to her. It was dry in about half a minute, and she handed it back to him.

"Do you still want to try?" she said. "It took me nearly an hour to get it right myself, and I'm usually rather adept at spells. Then again," she mused, "I was trying to learn it out of a book, and it wasn't very good with the directions."

"Yes, I want to learn it," Draco said. She did it again, and he followed her movements. He still didn't get it right, but it was closer than before, as it shot out a stream of freezing air. He laughed when he saw that it had frozen some of the water on the floor around him, and Granger chucked too.

"Come on, now, you're closer. But it's more of a flick than a swish," she told him. She demonstrated again, emphasizing on the flick. He followed her movements, but failed miserably, not even able to get a stream of air out of it this time. She bit her lip, then reached over and took his hand and guided it through the movements. Satisfied, she sat back on her heels as a stream of hot air came from the tip. "There, now you do it."

His eyebrows drew together in concentration and he moved his wand as she'd shown him. With a cry of jubilation, he jumped up. _He'd gotten it right! _She grinned up at him. "Now, do it again just to be sure you have it."

Blushing slightly, he sat down again and did the complicated twist of his wand. He glanced at Granger, and she was positively beaming at his accomplishment. His stomach rumbled, and he caught sight of a clock on the wall, and cursed. Granger's smile slid off her face as she followed his line of sight, jumping up too. She groaned. "We missed another meal." For indeed, it was past the time that dinner was served. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes in frustration. All he'd eaten was what he'd eaten in a competition with her, and some (very little) of his normal breakfast. Together, they headed down to the kitchens once again, to eat a meal that was rathermilder than what they'd eaten that morning.

* * *

Hermione was getting nervous. The two weeks that stood between her and torturing someone had passed in a blur of frayed nerves. It had been two weeks since Malfoy had walked in on her in the bathroom, and it was tonight that she was going to torture someone. She'd spent eight nights of the last two weeks with Voldemort, learning legilimency. She'd told him she wasn't sure if she could torture someone, and he'd taught her legilimency. She still didn't quite understand his reasoning, but trusted him (for the most part). And tonight he would be leading her off to torture someone.

Sighing, she looked to her clock. A strand of red hair fell in her way and she brushed it back impatiently. She had decided it was too much trouble to rid herself of the streaks, as Lavender (or Parvati) had found the magazine and taken it back. It was about time to go, so she again donned her black clothes and cloak, sneaking out. Chances of getting caught this time were slim as she was leaving at 11 PM and everyone was (or should be) asleep.

She edged into the common room, ducking into the shadow of an armchair as the last two people set down or packed up what they were doing and left to find their beds. That left only one person in the common room, and his head had fallen into the book he'd been studying and he snored gently. She slipped from the common room.

Prowling the halls, she nearly ran into Professor Flitwick, but managed to slide into an alcove just in time. The rest of the trip was uneventful as she made her way to the Slytherin common room. Delving into memory, she found what she thought was the correct corridor and slid down it.

"Dragonflame," she murmured to a blank expanse of wall. Slowly, it slid open and she slipped inside. There were nearly six people in this common room, even at nearly 11:30 at night. Hermione went to the closest person to her, what looked like a first or second year. "Where's Malfoy?" she asked gruffly.

Looking frightened, the gril pointed to the boy's dormitories. Hermione pulled her hood lower and considered. _No, _she thought, _I don't have time to wait for him._ A look at her watch confirmed this. Sighing and preparing a speech to scold him with, she mounted the stairs. Hermione opened the door what a silver plaque claimed was the 6th years' room. It looked much like Harry and Ron's dormitory.

"Malfoy?" she called softly. Someone grunted and rolled over in their bed. She edged over to the nearest bed. Squinting, she read "Crabbe" engraved on the trunk. The bed next to his was probably Goyle's then, unless Malfoy slept between the two. The curtains were parted slightly on the third bed. She peered in cautiously. Blaise Zabini. Hermione crept to the fourth bed. She squinted at the trunk, pleased to see "Malfoy" engraved on it in fancy silver lettering.

Biting her lip, she pulled back the curtain. A hand dropped on her shoulder, and she bit her tongue hard enough to bleed to keep herself from screaming. Slowly, she turned…

It was just Malfoy. "You idiot," she hissed, still tasting blood in her mouth. "You nearly scared me to death." She looked at her watch. 11:41. "And now we're going to be later. You'd damn better be ready to run there."

"We'll ride," Malfoy said, shushing her protests. He grabbed his broom from under his bed and pulled her down the stairs, through the common room. Finally they were out.

"Malfoy, I'm not riding that," she said as they shut the Entrance Hall's doors quietly behind them.

"Yes, you are. It's my fault we're running late, and I'm not going to let you be any later. Hell, if we ride fast enough, we may actually be on time."

"But we can't cut through the Forest on that," Hermione pointed out. Malfoy looked grim as he mounted his broom, but insisted they could. The Forbidden Forest was the only place one could enter or exit Hogwarts grounds without running into Dumbledore's barriers. If they were able to just walk through the gates, their current "tardiness" wouldn't be an issue. Against her will, though she didn't fight it, he pulled her onto the back of his broom.

Suddenly the ground was no longer below her feet. Hermione clamped her jaws shut to not scream, and grabbed Malfoy around the waist with all her might. His breathing whooshed out, but he didn't complain. She closed her eyes tight against the sensation of flying, trying to scoot up as close to Malfoy as she could.

Hermione began to mumble things under her breath at once, "it's okay, you're just running on the ground really fast. It's just like…riding a bike. Your feet don't touch the ground, but you're moving. Yes, yes. You're not flying on a broom at all, and the thing you're clutching in front of you is…just the handlebars, yes. And—" she let out a short shriek as something snagged on her clothes. She opened her eyes. They were going at a breakneck pace through the Forbidden Forest, and Malfoy skillfully dodged trees the whole time, ducking and twisting and…oh, it made her stomach sick. She closed her eyes again and clutched Malfoy even tighter, and she practically felt him clench his teeth at how tight she was holding him.

And then they were stopping. Her feet hit the ground, and she still clung to Malfoy, eyes closed tightly. He let out a breathless laugh, saying, "It's okay, we're there now." She opened one eye warily, then, seeing that they _were _there, Hermione let go of him and clambered off the broom shakily. She opened her mouth to say something about how she was never going to ride a broom again when a Death Eater arrived with a pop. Like the last Death Eater, he (she?) soundlessly handed them a portkey and they all disappeared before long.

The front hall of Malfoy Manor appeared again. She recognized it from last time, but this time the Death Eater ushered them both down another hall, and Hermione was suddenly very, very frightened. She didn't want to torture someone, she didn't. But then they were in a room that was lined with weapons, and Voldemort was waiting there. She walked over slowly to greet her "father" and he handed her a length of white fabric, instructing her to go into an adjoining room and dress herself in it. As if in a dream, she did as she was told.

When the dress was upon her, she inspected it. It was rather like a wedding dress, and she felt ill at the thought of getting it dirty. It had a full skirt, and a low neckline (she suspected Narcissa had gotten it), and little white straps that crisscrossed all down her back. The bodice had intricate whorls of beading, and the beads gleamed iridescent in the flickering torchlight. She went back into the other room.

She was led down a passageway into a torture chamber. A fully clothed man was strapped down onto one of four stone tables, and the wild look in his eyes was nearly too much to bear. The chamber was filled with Death Eaters, all in black. It felt the same as the ball, as she was the only thing wearing white, and she as the thing that drew all the attention. Voldemort led her over to a weapon's rack, and she picked out several knives, feeling sick to her stomach. She handed her wand to Voldemort, and as she pulled the knives from the rack, he murmured in her ear, "he has raped many girls. And then he kills them. To find out for yourself, use your legilimency." Suddenly it was all clear to her, and she understood.

Hermione turned to the man on the stone table and walked toward him slowly. She set the knives out on the table next to him, and Voldemort handed her wand to her. She looked the man in the eye and murmured, "_Legimens,_" holding her wand in one hand and a knife in the other. She saw a girl, crying in the corner, "No, please, no!" the thought swirled around. A brunette, frightened, peering around the corner, "Oh, Mr. Frunge, it's only you." The brown-haired girl stepped from the corner, and he took her and threw her across the room harshly, falling on top of her to rape her. Her screams echoed in Hermione's ears as she saw another girl, a blonde.

Her hand shook, and through a haze, she saw herself gently send the knife whispering through his shirt, peeling it off of him. She saw his skin, both in his thoughts and from her own eyes, and she began to draw the knife along his arms, making bloody stripes. He screamed, and she grinned wolfishly, concentrating on his thoughts again. The blonde was gone, and this time it was a child, and she knew it to be his own child. He roughly pushed the young girl to the ground, and began to rape her as she cried, "Daddy, no!" and Hermione knew how it ended. It ended with a slit throat and the poor, mangled body of his own child.

She began to absentmindedly draw the Dark Mark along his chest. She delighted in his screams, knowing that he was finally getting what he deserved for raping all those girls. Finished with the Dark Mark, his screams ended, and the steady stream of his memory stopped too. Confused, she looked up. His chest heaved as blood gushed from it, and she said, "_Ennervate._" He awoke again, looking like he was in pain, and she smirked. Finally, he was paying the retribution for his crimes. She met his eyes, those frightened round eyes, and said, "_Legimens_" for the second time. Again, she lived his thoughts, with all different girls.

This girl, he had strangled. She drew several deep lines coming out from his navel with her knife. He screamed shrilly, and the sound of it egged her on. Another person he knew, "Louis, no! Please, no, Louis." He had broken this girl's legs so she couldn't get away from him. Hermione felt sick as she drew more deep lines emanating from his navel. Ignoring her beautiful designs, she slashed across his chest at will, making the Dark mark unrecognizable unless under careful scrutiny. And finally, as her stomach threatened to show her the dinner she had eaten again, she pulled the knife up from his navel to his throat, slowly, painstakingly slitting it.

And it was over.

She set down the knife and looked the body over. The sight of her own handiwork made her sick, and somehow she walked to the door with a slowness that made her whole body ache and stumbled through the doors, falling to her knees outside the door. And then her stomach couldn't take it anymore, and it heaved up her dinner. She saw the blood on her arms, and her stomach heaved again.

"_Scourgify,_" a familiar voice said. She didn't even look up as Malfoy neared her. Shaking violently, her arms folded under her weight, and her elbows hit the floor with a sharp snap. Her stomach gave way again, and she retched out what little was left of her dinner. Moaning softly, she cradled her head in her hands.

"I don't feel good," she groaned.

Malfoy chuckled as he squatted down next to her, cleaning up her mess again with his wand. "I know," he said soothingly. And before she knew it, she was in his arms again, sobbing. It seemed she'd been doing that a lot lately. "We should get you out of these clothes," he said softly. She looked down at her dress, the beautiful white dress. It was splattered all over with bright red blood.

Hermione tossed herself out of Malfoy's arms, but it was a false alarm, it seemed, as she dry heaved on the floor. She looked up at Malfoy again, but then the world seemed to lurch sickeningly (she wondered if it was just her stomach), and the ground came up to greet her as everything went black.

* * *

_They call kids like us vicious and carved out of stone_

_But for what we've become, we just feel more alone_

—Fall Out Boy "I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me"


	6. Chapter 5: Ginny

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this out (well, not really, but…yeah). I'm going through a pretty traumatic time right now, as my boyfriend of almost nine months just broke up with me. But…I'm dealing with it. Kinda. Well, I'll keep writing as much as I can.

CHAPTER 5: Ginny

Hermione woke up with a start. She'd just had the most horrible dream. The first and only thing her startled eyes noticed was the complete and utter darkness. Content, she fell back onto her pillow, closing her eyes again. She stretched lazily, and stopped when she noticed her arms were touching bed all around. This wasn't her bed; it was too big to be. Her eyes flew open in startled surprise.

This time, her eyes saw that what she'd taken as utter darkness before was just very dim light. As her eyes adjusted, she also noted that the comforter appeared to be a deep green, though it looked nearly black in the light. The curtains were an exquisite shade of slate gray that let very little light in. Slowly, she sat up, grimacing at a monstrous headache. Cradling her head with one hand, she pushed aside the curtains.

The room scrambled to arrange itself between the parted curtains. But Hermione was more interested in the hand that pulled back the curtain. It was the deep red of dried blood, flecked with pale spots. Her stomach lurched when she realized it was her own arm. She swung her legs out of bed and stood.

The white dress. It was the same from her dream. _Only_, she realized, _it hadn't been a dream at all_. It had been real. Staring at the blood-spattered white gown made her flesh crawl.

"Oh!" said a startled voice, "You're up." Hermione looked across the room to see Malfoy. He stuffed the last bite of what looked like eggs-on-honey-on-toast in his mouth as he approached her. "Hungry?" he said when he'd swallowed. Her eyes merely widened in disgust at the thought of food. "No? I thought not."

Malfoy looked her over then, and a concerned look quashed his eyebrows together. "You probably want to change and wash up." Hermione just looked up at him, unable to speak. Had she really tortured someone?

The pale boy took her elbow and led her through a door into a bathroom. Malfoy knelt to turn on the facets, and Hermione just walked down into the bathtub. It wasn't pool-sized, but it was big, and with magical help, she was soon standing in warm water up to her breasts. Dumbly, she stood there, as the water around her turned red from her dress and arms. Malfoy beckoned to her from the side, and she waded to him.

The young boy handed her a washcloth and a bar of soap. When Hermione merely stared stupidly at the items, he gave a sort of growl and grabbed her arm. With a resigned sigh, he settled in and began to wash her off.

Hermione obediently did what Malfoy said, turning when he told her to, and dunking herself as well. "Nearly done," he said encouragingly. "Now, if you could just turn to me, and I'll get your face…" like a well-trained dog, she did, and he didn't meet her eyes as he ran the washcloth over her cheeks. Blushing slightly, but staying impassive, he washed above the neckline of the dress too, knowing she hadn't the state of mind to do so herself.

"I really did it, didn't I?" she croaked, voice hoarse from disuse. Still not meeting her eyes, Malfoy nodded. Groaning, her knees collapsed under the water. Her head cracked down on the edge of the tub as she went down.

Hermione suddenly felt her arms being lifted. Spluttering, she was dragged out of the tub nearly before her mind realized she'd been submerged. "Hermione?" a voice called frantically. "Hermione? Are you okay?"

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting pale, worried gray ones. "Malfoy?" she asked in confusion. She still couldn't grasp the fact that she'd tortured someone to death, her head hurt like an anvil had been dropped on it, and she must have a hearing problem, because she would have sworn she had just heard Malfoy call her Hermione.

"Oh, Granger," she heard Malfoy sigh in relief. She closed her eyes again, and then felt the world lurch. Startled, she gasped and opened them again to see only darkness. Alarmed, she squirmed before she realized she was being _carried. _So what she was looking at must be…Malfoy's shirt. He grunted a little, and she dropped slightly.

Afraid she may be dropped completely (though she had merely gone to a slightly lower height), Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, shoving her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder so she wouldn't have to look. But then she was being held higher again…being turned around…her curiosity got the better of her, and she lifted her head.

A door that was why they'd paused and she'd been dipped lower (that must've been when he was fumbling with the knob). Hermione looked around. They were back in the first room.

Malfoy set her gently on the bed. He strode to where he'd left his breakfast tray and brought it over to her. "Eat," he ordered. Then his face softened, "At least a little. I'll be back, I'm going to find you some clean clothes."

Hermione picked at a piece of toast in Malfoy's absence. Her mind was perfectly blank, unwilling to believe she'd tortured someone. But then, finally, her mind made the jump. With the sudden rush of realization came an equally sudden rush of nausea. She leaned over the side of the bed, retching violently. Slowly, she pulled herself back into a sitting position. She fumbled for the wand on the nightstand, cleaning up the mess just as Malfoy walked in.

"It's crazy out there. Apparently," he said in an annoyed tone through gritted teeth, "the Death Eaters stayed up all night celebrating the rise of their Dark Lady. Half of 'em are bumbling around with hangovers, another half are still asleep where they dropped last night, and a few" –he heaved a pile of clothes on the bed– "a few are even still drinking. Took me forever to find your clothes. Mum _exploded _when I asked her where they were. Something about how you should be wearing that dress all bloodied up with your head held high and whatnot."

Rather surprised by the unexpected rush of words, Hermione took a moment to clear her head. "Your mum," she said, pushing away the tray and picking up the stack of clothing, "is quite mad." She pulled herself off the bed and as she shut the door to the bathroom, she thought she saw Malfoy smother a chuckle at her comment.

Hermione stripped off the red-speckled dress with a shudder of relief. She dried herself off with a big fluffy black towel before donning her "sneaking around" garb that she'd worn both times she'd been to Malfoy Manor. She wrapped her dripping hair in the towel, then went back into the other room to ask for a brush.

Shocked, Hermione stopped in the doorway, and her breath caught. Malfoy wasn't wearing a shirt. She wondered why she hadn't noticed how beautiful he was last time he hadn't been wearing a shirt. The muscles in his shoulders bunched as he flipped through the clothing in a wardrobe. With a snarl of annoyance, he strode across the room to a chest of drawers, opening two and rifling through them before he found what he wanted.

Realizing what (correct) conclusions he would jump to if he caught her staring at him, Hermione gave a slight cough as he covered himself with a shirt. "Two things," she said to his questioning glance, "What time is it, and is there a brush I can use?" she indicated the towel wrapped around her hair.

Malfoy looked to the ceiling. Her gaze followed his to see a huge clock there. "Nearly 10 to your first question, and yes to your second." He led her back into the bathroom and opened a drawer. It had several types of brushes and two combs. "I usually just use the combs, but you can feel free to use the brushes," he said, walking back into the other room. _His room, _she realized. She picked a brush and began to remove the tangles from her hair.

* * *

Harry slammed his goblet down on the table. No Hermione. Again. Where did she keep going off to! He turned to Lavender, who had just given him the information. "Can you try to figure out what she's doing? As well as report back to me the second she gets back? And if you can't do the first, at least do the second for me." The girl nodded and bounced back to Parvati, giggling.

Ron looked furious while Harry rubbed his temples. "How could she do this again?" Ron snarled.

Ginny sauntered over, sitting next to Harry. She looked from one boy to the other. "Hermione's gone again?" she asked emotionlessly. Harry nodded, and Ginny got right back up to march over to Lavender and Parvati, holding a whispered conversation. Ginny came back frowning.

"Why are you guys so mad?" she asked.

Ron answered before Harry could, "She's our friend, Gin. Wouldn't expect you to understand, but we're worried about her." Ginny shot him a sour look.

"What I meant, was, that I just talked to them. All they said is that she was gone this morning when they woke up. She may have gotten up earlier than them and gone to the library or something." The younger girl frowned again. "Did you two even check the library?"

Simultaneously, Harry and Ron stood. Ginny looked alarmed. "You two can't go off to look for her like this! If she is in the library and you two just storm in, what will she think? You guys need to calm down before you see her. Finish your breakfasts, and cool off. I'll go find her," she turned on her heel and swept away.

Ron looked at Harry, begging him with his eyes to let the two of them ignore Ginny's warning and go find her anyway. "No," Harry said reluctantly. "She's right." Slowly, he went back to his food.

* * *

Ginny dashed up to Gryffindor tower. She had precious little time, and she knew it, but she had to try. As soon as she knew Hermione was gone, she'd had this mindless need to save her from Harry and Ron's anger. It was a premonition, of sorts. Something that Harry and Ron could not find out, but would if she didn't intervene now. She still wasn't sure why she was doing this, but she knew she would try her hardest to accomplish her goal:

Save Hermione Granger's skin.

Sweating and panting, she gave the password and slid into the common room. She scrambled up the stairs recklessly, and entered Harry and Ron's dormitory. She rummaged through Harry's trunk carefully until she found what she was looking for: an old piece of blank parchment.

She tapped it with her wand, nervously saying, "I solemnly swear that…I'm being bad?" Nothing. Licking her lips, she tried again, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good?" This time, lines oozed across the page, and she knew she'd gotten it right.

Frantically, knowing she was out of time, she located Hermione walking across the grounds, then froze. A dot labeled "Draco Malfoy" was walking beside her. Ginny despaired. She couldn't tell Harry or Ron about this. She'd used Harry's map without permission, and they wouldn't forgive her for that.

_Blackmail, though, _Ginny thought maliciously. And then she realized, _this is what I needed to protect her from them for. She has a secret, and it's Draco Malfoy. This was my premonition. I knew they couldn't find out about it, even though I didn't know what it was yet._

"Mischief managed," she murmured, tapping the map again. She put it back exactly where she'd found it and raced to head Hermione off. She would ask about Malfoy after she'd gotten her friend out of this mess.

* * *

In the companionable silence, Granger seemed to grasp at something that had been bothering her. "Malfoy…the way you spoke this morning, it sounded like you hadn't known that the Death Eaters had stayed. But…how could you not?"

Draco let his broomstick drift a little farther from the girl. He wondered if he should tell her the truth, deciding against it. "I fell asleep after taking you upstairs," he lied. She looked up at him sharply, scanning his face. He held his ground, not about to admit that he'd stayed up long after she'd fallen into a real sleep just to watch her.

He had loved the gentle frown on her face as she dreamed, though he'd loved it even more when she had smiled softly and curled up on her side. He was not about to tell her he had stayed up nearly all night (he had snuck in one and a half hours of sleep sometime between 3 and 5 in the morning), content to watch her sleep. He had gotten a lot of thinking done that night. Caught up in his thoughts, he barely realized when they reached the doors. "I'm going to fly a bit," he said. "I'll see you later." Without giving her a chance to answer, he sped off.

* * *

Ginny met Hermione at the front doors, panting. Malfoy was out flying, and Hermione looked a bit ruffled. Maybe they _hadn't _been walking together as companions, and it had been Hermione on the ground while Malfoy badgered her from the air.

But then why had she felt the need to help Hermione?

No, it fit that Hermione and Malfoy were sleeping together, and she didn't want to tell Harry and Ron. Well, it didn't entirely fit Hermione, but she'd come back from summer different. And, where the boys did not listen to all, Ginny did. She knew Malfoy had also been out on September 26th. And she also knew Malfoy's birthday had been the week before that, only two days before Hermione's. It was possible they had been birthday presents for each other. She felt sick at the thought.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked concernedly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione, Harry and Ron will be looking for you by now. I won't ask questions now, but you'd better expect them later." Ginny paused to think. "The owlery. I know a shortcut. Whatever happens, play along, and don't say _anything _until after we've gotten past Harry and Ron." Hermione followed her lead quietly, probably suspecting that Ginny knew more than she let on.

From the owlery, they silently began to head for the library, meeting up with Harry and Ron halfway there. Both the boys were fuming, but when they caught sight of her with Hermione, their expressions cooled a little bit to merely look livid (it really wasn't much of an improvement). Ginny sighed inwardly. It would have to do.

"Where—" Ron exploded, but Ginny cut him off.

"She was in the owlery. You fools, I told you she probably hadn't left the castle. She was sending something to her mum. Really, you two should have listened to me," Ginny interjected matter-of-factly.

Ron's jaw dropped and Harry's brilliant eyes smoldered. "You said she was probably in the library. Madam Pince said she hadn't seen her all day, and it can't have possibly taken Hermione an hour to mail something to her mum," Harry said smartly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "She obviously went to take a bath first. Can't you tell? Her hair isn't even dry yet," she thought up quickly. It was true enough, Hermione's hair was still wet, but she wasn't sure if it was from a bath or dew from the lush grass around Hogwarts, or from a plunge in the lake or something else.

The two older boys narrowed their eyes, but looked Hermione over. Ginny breathed a mental sigh of relief, as they both seemed to accept her points as true. "You scared us both to death, Hermione. You should have told us where you were going," Harry said quietly. Ginny nearly panicked at the look in his eyes. He obviously knew something else was going on here, though it was clear he didn't know what.

"What? Are you two now trying to be my father?" Hermione said shrilly. "I don't have to report everything I do to you guys! I'm allowed to take baths early in the morning if I want, and I should be allowed to send a letter to my mum without you two blowing up because I didn't mention that I needed to reply to a letter she'd sent me! Or am I not allowed to even go to the library anymore without your permission?" she asked snottily. Ginny mentally congratulated her, she was doing this perfectly.

Hermione spun away on her heel, and Ginny looked at the boys. "I warned you to cool off before you found her. Now look what's happened." This was perfect; now they would listen to her next time she told them something (she had proved right this time, why not next time?) and she also had a way to get Hermione to do her bidding, at the risk of her telling Harry and Ron about her nighttime wanderings with Malfoy.

Smirking, Ginny set off to find something to do with this information.

* * *

Hermione headed to the library to write an essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was currently being taught by Dumbledore, who was assigning essays and having them practice their defenses against each other every Wednesday under his supervision. He kept hinting, though, that the newest DADA professor would be arriving any day now to take their post back from him.

Her mind wandered as she wrote the essay, and after about an hour, her hand stopped writing altogether and she stared off at a bookcase. Malfoy hadn't been telling the truth, she knew that. She didn't know what the truth was, but it wasn't what he'd said. She mulled over the fact that he'd carried her up all the way to his room alone (or at least that's what he'd insinuated, and she suspected he had, seeing as he'd carried her from the bathroom to his room as if she weighed nothing).

_Oh no_, she thought. _Against all odds, we've become friends. _She slammed her head against the table in frustration, earning herself a disapproving look from Madam Pince. _We knew we couldn't become friends, but that's what we are._ How could they not be friends after what they'd been through? But they couldn't. They both knew they couldn't be friends.

Yet that was what they were.

Only a friend would have carried her up all that way to their room. Only a friend would have patiently washed her off. Only a friend would have such a stupid contest with her about gross foods. Only a friend would have done any of that. And if she weren't his friend too, she wouldn't have let him. This wasn't good. They needed to talk and work this out. They needed to become enemies again, somehow.

Hermione reached into her pocket for her wand so that she could do a quick little spell to cut off a spare bit of parchment from her essay. It was already half a foot too long anyway. Her eyes widened. Her wand. It wasn't there. She must have left it at Malfoy's house. She cursed herself in her mind.

Slowly she got up, pulling her cloak closer around her as she realized she was still in her black clothing for sneaking around. She couldn't let anyone see those, or they would wonder. She didn't think Ginny or Harry or Ron had noticed though, which was a good thing. She thanked Madam Pince for the parchment and returned the quill and left, making her way to Gryffindor tower.

Once she was safely in her regular clothing again, she pulled a spare piece of parchment from her book bag. On it she wrote:

_I left my wand at your house. I need to get it before classes start again. Meet me in the astronomy tower tonight at midnight. We need to talk._

_DL_

Sighing, she stood up from her nightstand and went over to her trunk to pull out a book she needed to return to the library, as she was planning on going back there just to avoid Harry and Ron. She put it in her book bag, then took the now-dry letter from her nightstand and folded it, putting it in her book bag as well. She turned to go and ran smack into Ginny.

"Ginny," she said, flustered. "I didn't hear you come in."

"You have questions to answer," Ginny said with her eyebrows raised. Hermione wondered if she'd seen the note, wincing as she realized she probably had. Ah, well, she would just change the time or the date or location (or all three) on the letter before she sent it. Sighing, Hermione resigned herself to an interrogation and sat on her bed with her knees tucked up to her chin.

"Where were you on the 26th?" Ginny demanded.

"At a party," Hermione said cautiously. Ginny should already know that.

"With Malfoy?" Hermione didn't manage to hide her surprise in time, and knew Ginny had seen it. "I'll take that as a yes. What were you two doing out late at night together?"

"We just happened to be invited to the same party. We weren't there _together,_" Hermione defended. Ginny raised her eyebrows, but she held her ground.

"If you say so…" Ginny said dubiously. "What were you and Malfoy doing last night then?"

Shocked by what Ginny was implying, Hermione stood. "If you think I am sleeping with the enemy, you are very, _very _wrong. I can't even believe you would _consider _that!"

"Then what is it, Hermione? You two were certainly very friendly this morning. I didn't see any hexes or jinxes or curses fly between the two of you," Ginny snarled. Hermione was caught off guard, but her mind didn't betray her this time as she thought quickly.

"What are you talking about? He was flying up too high for me, and I left my wand at…well, I didn't have my wand with me, and you obviously didn't see much, because if you had even seen us, you would have seen that he was being his usual self and calling me a Mudblood and all a manner of nasty things from up on his broomstick," Hermione shot back. She hoped Ginny hadn't really seen them, because if she had, she would know the truth.

Ginny's lips were pursed so hard they were thin white lines, but she couldn't seem to find anything to say back to that and turned on her heel and left the room. Slowly, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and quickly edited the letter before she went off to send it.

* * *

Draco looked over the letter again.

_I left my wand at your house. I need to get it before classes start again. Meet me in the prefect's bath on the fifth floor (the one to the left of the statue of Boris the Bewildered) tonight at midnight. We need to talk._

_DL_

As he traveled like a wraith through the halls, he mulled over how he would get her wand back. The easiest way would be to ask his mother to get it for him, but…he didn't really trust his mum. He would've asked his father then, and asked him for a portkey so that he could get it himself. But his father was in very deep trouble with the Ministry (he was currently in Azkaban, and the only way he'd managed to go to Hermione's ball was because he'd convinced someone to come and visit him and take a Polyjuice Potion and stay the night in Azkaban in his place) and in no way able to create a portkey, and his letter would probably even be read before it got to his father.

Maybe…Granger's "father" would be able to do it. Yes, the Dark Lord should be able to do something about this. Well, he was off to meet Granger right now anyway, so he could work something out with her then. As he walked down four doors from the statue of Boris the Bewildered, he grinned at the wording of her last sentence. _We need to talk. _It sounded like she was about to break up with him. Those words always preceded a breakup, just as _I've been doing a lot of thinking _did. He laughed quietly as he said the password ("peppermint") and entered.

Though he was nearly ten minutes early, Hermione was already there. She looked up at his entrance with a baleful look in her eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked before he could stop himself, walking over to her.

"We're friends," she said. He was so stunned that he stopped in his tracks, thinking it over. With all they had been through, it had just seemed natural, but…she was right. They'd become friends, and they shouldn't have. He hunkered down beside her.

"Yes, we have." She sighed and looked away from him. The silence grew prolonged, neither knowing what to say to the other.

"Oh, and I need my wand. When can we—I mean, when can you get it back to me?" she had changed the "we". He agreed with her, though—it sounded too friendly.

"You left it on my nightstand, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Granger nodded. No one spoke, and the only noise in the empty room was their breathing.

"I don't trust my mum with your wand. My father has no way of getting it to you. We're going to need to get it, and for that we need a portkey. That is," he said, "unless you want to fly the whole way?" He heard her suck in her breath as he paused. He'd continued to use the "we". He shouldn't have, but it had just seemed so right.

"No, I don't," she said shakily. So, she had noticed him using the "we" also. "I think," she said softly, "We can be friends anywhere but Hogwarts. Everywhere else won't care."

"But it's at Hogwarts that we are the most," Draco reminded her. Granger nodded at that, and he imagined that there was a sad gleam in her eye.

"I'll write to father tonight and ask him to send a portkey and someone to take us," Granger said, standing.

"You can send my eagle owl," Draco told her. "It's more reliable than a school owl." She gave him a smile of gratitude as he stood as well.

She turned to leave, and suddenly Draco felt an aching emptiness. "Wait," he called. Hermione turned back to him, a questioning look in her eyes. He frantically thought about for some reason to keep her with him longer. "Will you…um…swim with me?"

She came closer, walking over to where he stood at the water's edge, and looked down into the water in thought. Smirking, Draco splayed his fingers on her back and gently pushed her in. She came up, spluttering and giggling, and he shrugged helplessly. She laughed at his look and swam back to the edge. She heaved herself up, but apparently didn't have the arm strength to keep herself there and slid back into the water, looking up at him pleadingly. Sighing, he reached down and grasped her slippery hand.

The water rushed up to meet him before he even realized he'd been tricked. He laughed, then choked on the water. He came up coughing, but laughing at the same time to see her already out of the water. She looked down at him. "You really do have to turn around this time," she told him seriously. His eyes widened at what had happened last time he hadn't turned around.

"Calm down," she said. "I won't do that to you again, you freaked out enough last time." She went over into the corner. "You'd better not be watching, Malfoy," Hermione said as she stripped off her shirt. "And I'll hex you into next week if you are." Her shirt fell to the floor, and his eyes widened. She really did have a beautiful figure, and her skin was pale as moonlight on the lake. Then she stiffened, as if realizing something, and he turned away so she wouldn't know he'd been looking.

"Er…Malfoy?" she said.

"Yes?" he asked back.

"Can I borrow your wand for a minute? I forgot I didn't have mine," he turned around to see her holding her shirt over her chest, and her brown eyes were pleading. Smirking, he handed over his wand.

"Thanks," she breathed, and it sent chills up and down his spine. He turned away, as she went back to her corner, but as soon as he was sure she wasn't paying attention to him anymore, he snuck a glance at her. She was transfiguring her bra and underwear into a one-piece swimsuit. He was slightly dismayed that it wasn't a bikini, but had no time to dwell on it as she finished just then, and he had to turn his back as if he hadn't been looking. She handed him his wand, and he dragged himself out of the pool to go change his clothing into a swimsuit as well.

He finished just as she slid into the water. Thinking to scare her, he took a running jump over her head into the pool. He grinned wolfishly as he came up. "I can't believe you," she screeched at him. All he did was laugh at her. She snatched up his wand from the side of the pool, and his eyes widened in fear at what she may do. She put it under the water and aimed it at him, murmuring a spell. A huge wave crashed over his head. When he came up from under it, Granger had abandoned his wand and was laughing.

Grinning, he laughed too and splashed her back, knowing it was no true match for her spell. She looked taken aback, but laughed a second later and splashed him back.

After nearly an hour of fun, Draco pinned her to the wall of the pool. He grinned roguishly at her. "So," he asked casually, as if his nose weren't only a half a foot away from hers. "Are we to be secret friends?" Her hands brushed against his sides, making him shudder, and then she laid them on his shoulders. She had a scared, yearning look in her eyes and he realized he was far, far too close to her.

"Yes," she breathed, and he realized he was even closer to her. He could see the water clinging to her lashes as she looked up at him through them. He was nearly panicking, but couldn't seem to stop. Her chest brushed against his now as she breathed, and he wondered if she had any idea how alluring she was. Was he really about to kiss Granger? Was she even "Granger" to him anymore? Hadn't he been calling her Hermione in his mind for a while now? That was the last straw, and he launched himself off the wall.

He pulled himself out of the water as fast as he could without seeming to be in a rush. "I—I'm sorry," he stammered, "But, I've—er—I've gotta go! I'll see you." He gathered up his clothes and wand and left the room in a rush. Only when he was in his room again did he allow himself to stop and think about what had just happened—and what he was about to do about it.

* * *

_I'll be your best kept secret and your biggest mistake_

—Fall Out Boy "Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner"


	7. Chapter 6: Ginny's Suspicions

CHAPTER 6: Ginny's Suspicions

Hermione didn't sleep much that night. She stayed up, and after writing her letter to Voldemort as promised, thought about her and Malfoy's (Draco's?) almost-kiss. It scared her how much she yearned for his secure touch, for the feel of his pale gray eyes on her. Oh, his eyes were so beautiful! They were like frosted silver, but with flecks of black and summer-sky blue in them.

She shivered at the lust and depth of feeling in his eyes when he had looked at her. They had been through a lot together in such a short time, and a lovely friendship was blooming between the two of them. She wasn't going to let this get in the way of it, she decided firmly. That was it, she would just act as if nothing had happened.

But even after reaching this decision, she lay awake until a fitful sleep overtook her at close to 5 AM.

Someone giggled. Groaning, Hermione looked over at the clock. It wasn't even 8:30 yet. Groaning again, she pulled her pillow over her head. She was _not _going to go through the day on just over three hours of sleep. But there was another giggle, barely suppressed this time, and then two people started laughing uproariously. Hermione swore under her breath. "Some people," she snarled, throwing the pillow to the foot of her bed, "are still trying to sleep." She looked into the guilty faces of Lavender and Parvati, who then began to laugh even more.

Hermione stood and gathered up her clothing, dressing as quickly as she could before storming out of the room, grumbling. She didn't have her wand or she would have just put a silencing charm around her bed like she always did when they began to giggle at absurd times of the morning (or night).

She growled grumpily and glared at anyone she passed in the halls. But she knew there would be no getting back to sleep now (perhaps that was why she was in such a horrid mood in the first place), and was resigned to the fact. Having no set direction, she merely wandered the halls tetchily before deciding some fresh air would do her good.

Hermione settled herself on the edge of the lake, tossing pebbles into the dark depths. The squid put up a tentacle in protest, and the sixth year desisted, settling to think some more. Her brain felt like it was being overworked by this whole…_thing, _but she couldn't stop thinking about it. His pale arms had been so beautiful as they had boxed her in at the side of the pool, but she hadn't felt trapped. Indeed, she had felt…protected.

She sighed, looking up at the sky. His eyes were such a lovely gray, as she thought about it, she imagined that was all she could see, her vision was a fog of gray flecked with black…a lazy grin spread across her face. "Are you going to get that?" a familiar drawl said. Startled, she blinked; realizing the gray in front of her eyes was not her imagination, but an owl's wing. She sat up and untied the letter.

_I'm afraid I cannot possibly do that. I can only risk it when we truly need it. Sorry, daughter, but you're on your own._

_Your Father_

Hermione groaned. "He can't get us a portkey," she told Malfoy miserably. The boy sneered slightly.

"Then I'm going to go get my broom. I've got a long ride ahead of me," he said, sauntering off while still muttering under his breath. His sudden absence, and the fact that it seemed he was not taking her with him hit her heart like a sledgehammer. She wanted to pretend like last night hadn't happened, but it didn't seem like that was an option. She picked herself up and stumbled back into the castle, refusing to admit how much it hurt that he wasn't taking her with him, much as she detested flying.

So, she would go, find a nice big book, settle down in a comfortable chair in the common room…she paused. That wouldn't work, not with Harry and Ron there. They hadn't talked to her at all yesterday after the morning, even when they were in the common room with her. In fact, they'd just sent annoyed glances at her all night until she'd gone to bed.

Okay, so, off to the library. Or to her dormitory. But no, that wouldn't work either, as Ginny may come in and hound her again. Hermione sighed in frustration as she turned to go to the library, knowing that even then they could find her there. Then a thought struck her. She could…follow Draco to the Slytherin common rooms and corner him and make them discuss what had happened.

But she didn't really want to talk about what had happened.

She could convince him to let her go with him though. It was her wand, anyway.

Smirking fit to match the boy in her thoughts, she rushed up the stairs to get her cloak so the rest of the Slytherins wouldn't recognize her. It was risky business, and she actually was getting a little thrill from knowing the threat of getting caught. Before she knew it, she was in her shared room, and she was digging through her trunk for her cloak, the one that was too big (she wanted to be sure she was properly covered up).

Hermione slung her book bag over her shoulder. It was packed with several books and her too-large cloak. To anyone looking at her, she'd merely be going to the library. But most of the students were trying to enjoy the last few nice days before winter out by the lake, so it was there that she had to worry more. It was just a little past one by now. She should be able to catch Malfoy long before he left—he couldn't possibly be leaving this early.

She walked into the library, making an obvious entrance by stumbling over a chair. Looking embarrassed (though she really wasn't, it had been part of her plan), she meekly meandered to the back corner of the library. Now was the hard part: getting out without anyone noticing. Now if anyone asked Harry and Ron where Hermione had been today, there would be people who saw her go into the library. She wanted to use this excuse as long as she could, which meant she couldn't just walk out. She had to sneak.

Stashing her book bag behind a chair, she pulled out her cloak. She couldn't wear it yet (that would look horrendously suspicious in early October, especially since she was indoors), but she couldn't leave it behind. Slowly, and using the bookshelves for cover, she made her way to the front of the library. It took a while, but she was finally sure no one was looking, and she slunk over to the doorway. She listened for feet passing in the hall, and when she heard the last footsteps receding, she crawled out of the library as fast as she could, fairly sure no one had seen her exit.

Grinning hugely, she scurried over to a mostly unused passage to her left. It wasn't usually used because it had a ton disappearing steps and was only there on even days of the year, but it went straight to the ground floor. It had taken Hermione nearly two weeks to get it memorized going up and going down, but she figured it was worth it, being much faster in the long run. She scampered down these, careful of the steps and reaching back in her memory for the pattern to go down.

The Entrance Hall was the worst. People almost never stopped moving. She got close to halfway across it before she had to throw herself behind a statue of Winelda the Wacky as Snape and another person walked across the hall, deep in conversation. Because their backs were turned to her, she took the chance and dashed the rest of the way across.

The dungeons. Hermione extracted the memory of the trail from her memory as she fastened her cloak. With the hood pulled up, the dungeons looked positively scary, as the already-dim light dimmed even more. With a shudder, she followed the mental map.

"Dragonflame," she muttered. The wall before her opened up. She tugged the cloak about her tighter and walked in. The common room was crowded, but she walked like she meant business and didn't even deign to look at them. Let them think she was a high and mighty Slytherin—only then would they not question her.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she gained the stairs. Without even knocking, she walked into the dormitory. Draco was there, giving instruction to Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione hovered at the entrance uncertainly, but held her head high as if worthy of being their equal. Making up her mind, she drifted over to where the boys were talking. Finally, Malfoy looked up at her and his eyes grew wide. He broke off his speech to the larger boys, and they looked up at her as well.

"I'm coming with you," she blurted out, and winced at how high her voice was. Malfoy seemed to notice the same thing and smirked.

"Oh really?" he said menacingly. Noting his tone, Crabbe and Goyle stood to flank him.

"What?" she said nastily, realizing pleading would not get her anywhere with the other two there. Maybe if they were alone she could, but not with them here; she would need to bully him into this. "Are you going to set your hounds on an unarmed _girl_? Will you really stoop that low? All I'm saying is that I'm coming, and that's what I'm going to do no matter what you say." She gave him a haughty look, daring him to challenge her.

"Why you little—"

Before he could finish, Hermione gave a small gasp to get his attention before she gave him an admonishing look before clucking disapprovingly. "I'm sorry, what am I to tell Daddy I am? You know you'll get in trouble for that, if I tell him that you hurt me." Malfoy's jaw dropped and she let her chin wobble slightly and her eyes grow large and sad as if she was about to cry, letting her hood fall back a little so he could see her face.

Draco looked away, as if unwilling to accept defeat. She quickly made minor changes to her face and switched her look to pleading puppy eyes, an expression she didn't use much. When he cast a wary glance her way, he saw the look and she knew she'd won, though she was careful not to show the victory on her face for fear he may reconsider.

"Fine, you can come," he said. "But we need to leave soon, or we'll never get there and back by morning. And this will be an all night thing, we won't have time for sleep," he said. "You still up for it?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded excitedly, and the hood slipped a little more. She replaced it instantly, but knew by the look in his eyes that Goyle had seen and was trying to place her.

"Hey," Goyle said, "She looks a lot like—"

Malfoy whipped out his wand and erased Goyle's memory before he could finish the sentence, then cleared Crabbe's mind as well. "Sorry," Hermione murmured.

Draco looked back at her and gave her a rare grin. "Don't worry about it." But then he seemed to realize how warm his look was and it was as if shutters closed over his face as his expression became cold and ruthless. He grabbed his broom from under his bed then grabbed her wrist painfully on the way out, "Let's go."

Hermione did not speak as they passed through the common room, though managed to make herself look dignified and as if she wasn't being dragged out of there. She didn't realize that it must have looked (to most in the common room) like they were holding hands, but even if she had she wouldn't have cared. Malfoy needed some sort of trouble for the annoyance he was causing her.

"Do you have to be such an obnoxious prat?" she asked him as soon as the wall had closed behind them. She hadn't meant to burst out now, but now that she was started she may as well finish. "You could have just let everything be! You could've just pretended it hadn't happened like I was going to do! But, no. You had to go and get all cold on me. Well, I'm not having it! You are going to act normal, we're going to be secret friends, and we are not going to kiss!" she yelled.

"Do be quiet," Malfoy said, leading her down the hall. Hermione growled deep in her throat and took a breath to continue talking. "If you don't shut your mouth this instant, I'm not taking you no matter what you say," he threatened. She closed her jaws with an audible snap. His grip on her wrist loosened though he did not let go until they were in the Entrance Hall, and she couldn't help but feel comforted by his warm grasp. "Meet me at the edge of the Forbidden Forest behind the greenhouses in fifteen minutes. And take off that ridiculous cloak." He left her standing there alone before she even realized what he was doing.

He was going to leave without her.

She shed the cloak immediately, gathering it in her hands as she ran out the door as fast as she could. She barely remembered that she was still supposed to be in the library and used her momentum to jump into a bush. Sudden bush movement startled two Ravenclaw second years and they scuttled away quickly. From deep in the leafy stomach of the bush, Hermione spotted Malfoy heading towards the greenhouses.

Without giving any thought, she darted through the stand of bushes that hugged the castle. Hermione sprinted across the open area to the first greenhouse, tucking herself behind the edge. Turning to continue on so she could catch Malfoy before he left, she stifled a scream when she found him standing right behind her. He raised his eyebrows at her reaction and looked ready to laugh.

"You ready to go?" he asked quietly.

"Wait, you're…you're not going to leave me?" Hermione stammered.

He gave her a dubious look. "I thought about it, but came to the conclusion that company—even yours—would be better than going all that way alone." She closed her mouth on an indignant comment, giving him a warning look.

"It's about 2 right now. If you want, we can walk part of the woods rather than flying it all?" Hermione was grateful for the offer, but in the end declined, saying she'd rather they get there as soon as possible. At this, he looked at her funny. "You do realize we're going the long way to the Manor, right? Because we have to bypass the big cities and we'll have to walk in some places. Where there's sufficient cloud cover, we'll be able to fly high enough to not be seen, and I'm counting on some of that." Hermione followed his gaze to where clouds darkened the distant sky.

"Let's go," Hermione said acceptingly.

"Okay then. Get on the back," he said, mounting. Hermione slowly did his bidding, holding onto his waist tightly.

And so they were off. Draco took them again through the forest at a breathtaking pace, flying about 8 or 9 feet above the ground. They zipped past a few of centaurs talking, though Hermione didn't think the pair of runaway Hogwarts students had been seen, as their backs were all turned as the three centaurs were examining something between them. After the centaurs, Malfoy twitched the broom up about another two feet just to be sure they were better hidden in the trees and they continued on their way.

Neither of them made any attempt at conversation as they rode. Conversation wouldn't have made it to the other person at the speed they were going, and they were unwilling to shout to each other to be heard. Hermione knew she clung too tight to Malfoy, but he didn't seem to mind, and didn't say anything. Exhaling slowly, she gave herself up to him, and in that moment gave him all her trust to get her safely to his Manor. Slowly, her grip on him loosened into a relaxed but firm grip, and she kept her eyes closed against his back.

He must have noticed the difference because she felt him twist around briefly to look at her. She squinted up at him through eyes she would rather have closed. He gave her a short smile, and she grinned back, snuggling into his back for protection and warmth as he turned to face forward again. It had happened really quickly, but it felt like forever, and she could still see the warmth of his smile and the brightness of his gray eyes from behind her closed lids.

She suppressed a shiver as she remembered the last time his eyes had looked so bright. It brought back pleasant (and terrifying) thoughts of a night in a tub with him, and she remembered how close he'd been to her on that day, and the feel of his arms around her…the pleasant warmth of his breath on her…. She smiled serenely against his back and relaxed even more.

Hermione thought as they rode, and her thoughts always came back to the boy she leaned comfortably against. He had slowed the pace a bit, from their rushed speed before, and now went at a more moderate speed. With the comfort of his body and the warmth of the sun on her, she thought she might even be able to fall asleep, if they didn't dismount soon.

Just as she was dozing off, a branch caught her leg and jerked her awake. Instantly, her arms tightened around Draco's waist, only to realize that he was setting them down. "Sorry," he muttered as if he didn't mean it, and then she remembered that they had almost kissed and that he was being a sore prick about it. She swung herself off the broom angrily.

"Why are you being such a…a…brat about this!" she said, stumbling over what to call him.

"About what?" he snarled, holding the broom tightly at his side.

"You can't just act as if it didn't happen!" Hermione screeched, frustrated and hypocritical. That was what she had planned on doing.

"Yes, I can," he said snottily. Before she understood what she was doing, her open hand hit his cheek with a resounding smack.

"No. We almost kissed," she said, her face burning with anger, "and we probably won't ever have that happen again. It was an accident, nothing more. And you are going to ignore it and treat me as you were treating me before it happened," she snapped. He looked at her, agape, and his cheek showed a vivid red handprint. She noticed his hand was reaching for his wand, and glared at him fiercely, "if you hurt me at all, you're going to hear from my father about this."

Malfoy's eyes widened and his hand dropped away from where his wand was. He was clearly frightened of the Dark Lord. But in the instant that his fear flashed in his gray eyes, it was gone, replaced with an anger that was all for her. His lips pursed, and he stomped off through the trees. Hermione sighed at his back, coming to a decision. She _would _get him back to normal. She had all day and all night. She would do this. With a knowing smirk, she traipsed off after him, thinking, _watch out, Malfoy. I'm going to get Draco back._

And it was only after she thought this, that she realized she'd been calling him Draco in her mind when he was…well, decent around her, and Malfoy when he was being a prat. She grinned at his back and suddenly she saw the trees had abruptly stopped. They stood on a hill overlooking a small town. Malfoy stripped off his Hogwarts robe and held out his hand for hers. She obeyed, handing him her robe, and he walked a little way down the edge of the trees.

"Aha!" he murmured. She caught up to him and saw a tree marked with "DM" on it. He mounted his broom and rose a little, tucking their robes in a hole halfway up the tree trunk. _He's left the school before,_ she thought as he dismounted from his broom grinning. Pulling the wand from his pants (muggle jeans, she noticed), he shrank his broomstick and tucked it into a pocket. She looked down at her own knee-length skirt and blouse and shrugged. They would pass for muggle clothing.

Without a word (he was probably still smarting from her smack, and though the lines had faded, they were still upon his face, and most likely still being felt), he turned and headed down the hill. Grimacing, Hermione followed him. This wasn't going well. She caught up to him and began to talk.

"So…er…how's school going for you so far?" she asked slowly. He didn't answer, only gave her a steady, dismissive gaze before turning away again. "Finished all your homework?" she asked. He didn't even look at her this time. "So, which classes are you taking this year?" she said. Not an answer. He didn't even blink. She decided to try a different tactic.

"So, how's your father? Having fun in Azkaban?" she asked slyly. By her tone, there was no malice in the words. It was as if she didn't know who his father was or anything about him besides that he was in Azkaban. But she could tell her words had an effect on the boy next to her. His eyes seemed to lock down, and his face became as still as stone.

"I wonder how well they feed prisoners in there," she mused innocently, wondering how far she'd have to take this before he spoke. "It must be a nuisance to have them reading your mail all the time. You wouldn't be able to have any private conversations with anyone." When he said nothing (though his mouth did tighten a little), she began to despair. Maybe he wouldn't ever speak, and would just get so mad at her that he wouldn't say anything! Cautiously, she prodded on her last card, "I wonder if they got the Death Eaters back." She saw him clamp his jaws on a remark and knew she would get him. Just a little more… "It would be a pity if they made your father go mad before I even got to meet—"

"You bitch!" Malfoy exhaled, turning to face her. _Oh dear, _she thought miserably, _I think I went a little too far. _"How dare you speak of my father!" he spat on the ground next to her foot. "You ignorant little Mudblood. How would you like it if your father went mad in Azkaban!"

This got her angry, and she stiffened. "Do not speak of my father."

"Oh, you don't want me talking to you about your blood father? He was an annoying muggle, without magic of any sort, and he deserves to die for that!" he said. She agreed with him, and grinned at him, and the look of surprised confusion that crossed his face was priceless.

"You're right, my father does deserve to die. But not for that," she said in the silence that followed his comment. Malfoy looked stunned.

"You…you don't like your father?" he asked slowly.

She just gave him a look that said as clearly as words that she didn't just not like him, she loathed her father.

"Why?" he asked, clearly unable to comprehend why anyone would hate their own father.

Hermione's jaw clenched. She didn't want to talk to Malfoy about it. In fact, she didn't want to talk about it at all, she wanted to go out and do something that would make her father angry.

"Tell me?" he asked, and though his tone wasn't pleading, she knew he was begging her to tell. _He wants to understand_, she realized.

An idea hit her. "I'll tell you if you quit treating me like gum on the bottom of your shoe and treat me as you did before…" she spoke around the lump that arose in her throat, "before we almost kissed." His breath hissed out, but he seemed to consider the offer. Looking warily at her, he nodded.

"I hate my father." Her jaw clenched just saying that part of it. "And over the summer, he…" her voice failed her and she swiped at angry tears, hating them. "He was having an affair with another woman. A woman almost half his age," she said furiously. "He betrayed me and my mother. I hate him."

"But…" Malfoy said, obviously still confused. And Hermione thought that she saw a glimmer of Draco in his eyes.

"No. No buts. I hate him. I've been working all summer to undermine his authority over me. I hate him," she said fiercely.

"What do you mean working all summer? What exactly have you been doing?" It was Draco this time, and he looked slightly alarmed.

"Nothing too bad," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. "I just got a couple things pierced, a tattoo, came home drunk, went partying, broke curfew," she said casually. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Is that all?" he said suspiciously. She nodded.

"Well, a few others, but they were minor. Little things like eating upstairs and stuff," she said. He shrugged at this.

"But why do you hate him so much?" he asked her, still not understanding.

Hermione shook her head. "If you don't understand now, you probably won't, no matter how well I explain it," she said, somewhat disappointed. She had kind of hoped she would be able to talk to him about this and have him understand.

Malfoy turned to her, and she stopped walking. "I want to understand. Please. I just don't see how someone can hate their own family, or at least their parents. I can see how you can dislike your family members, but you still love them in the end, right? I don't get how you can hate your flesh and blood as you do."

"He betrayed us. That's why. If your father went around your back and sold you and your mum out to the Ministry, and then you two were arrested for being Death Eaters, wouldn't you hate your father?"

Draco actually thought about this. The silence between them stretched for nearly five minutes, and as they came on the outskirts of the village, he finally spoke. "I don't think so. No. I would not hate him. I would not love him, I wouldn't like him, but I wouldn't hate him," he said slowly. "I can't hate the person who made me, who raised me."

This gave Hermione pause. She stopped, and looked into Draco's beautiful gray eyes. How could he not hate? "You hate Harry though, don't you?"

"Yes," he hissed maliciously.

"Why?" she said harshly.

"Because he ruined the people my father thinks of as brothers," he growled.

Hermione smiled. "That's exactly it. Exactly. He betrayed your family—though he didn't know it—and so you hate him. And it doesn't matter whether you are related to him or not. You hate him. That's what I feel for my former father. But," she continued brightly, "I have a new father now, and he would never betray me." Draco, at her side, nodded, and they continued their walk through town.

"Malfoy, would you have left me at school?"

He long stride paused for a moment, then he continued warily, "I thought about it, but decided that it would be really boring journey to make alone."

Hermione laughed. "You don't mean boring," she teased, "you mean lonely."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment Hermione thought he was mad at her. But then he gave an exasperated grin, and she realized he'd only been trying not to smile. "Yes."

They traveled through the town quickly, and Hermione realized this might actually be a fun outing. She had forgotten completely the consequences of leaving school midday with Malfoy, and her heart was light in her chest as the unlikely pair walked along through the roads of the town.

* * *

Ginny sat down at the dinner table across from Harry and Ron. They each looked furious, and she said, "What's wrong, guys?"

"Gone. Again," Harry snapped. Ginny paled. Hermione was gone again? Already? She stood up, and the second and fifth year she'd squeezed between glared at her for not settling down. Ignoring their looks, she scanned the Slytherin table. Pansy, looking just as irate as Harry and Ron, was arguing wrathfully with Crabbe and Goyle, who were cowering and looking stupid. Malfoy was nowhere in sight.

Her suspicions were confirmed then, Hermione and Malfoy were having relations—she just didn't know what kind. She smirked gently to herself as she settled down between the two thoroughly annoyed students again. Oh, this would be wonderful blackmail. And she happened to know a few things about her brother—like his long-standing crush on Hermione—that could be remedied with this information. Maybe Hermione would just _happen _to have a crush on her brother as well…

* * *

'_Cause every pane of glass that your pebbles tap_

_Negates the pains I went through to avoid you_

—Fall Out Boy "Chicago Is So Two Years Ago"


	8. Chapter 7: Boyfriend and Girlfriend

CHAPTER 7: Boyfriend and Girlfriend

Glad that her Draco was back, hopefully forever now, and hopefully not just until the next mistake, Hermione found the journey quite pleasant. Even as they soared through the cloud cover and got soaking, Draco leading them as undeniably as if he had a compass in front of him, Hermione was delighted. She curled up against his back once again, but did not fall asleep this time.

Although she wished she had been dozing off, for if she had, the topic that snatched her mind from her would probably remain forgotten. She had tortured and killed someone. She was now utterly unsure of who was in that body of hers, as the other (the real?) Hermione Granger would never do such a thing. She didn't know herself anymore.

_But then again,_ she thought, _didn't that start this summer? The other Hermione would never have gotten drunk, or stayed out late, or gotten a tattoo. The other Hermione would never have done any of this. Which is the real me? This one, the hard, cruel, bitch who follows Lord Voldemort, or the other one who loved her books more than her life, and would never have been tough enough to confront the fact that her friends didn't care?_

_But…I'm still a bookworm. I'm still the other Hermione, but only deep down. I still have the same traits, and though my study schedule has been thrown off-kilter by all this mess, I still manage it as though my life depended on it. Though I haven't been spending much time with Harry and Ron, that's to be expected, as they don't really like me. I'm just adapting my life to something more suited to what's going on._

Satisfied that she'd come to a conclusion, she relaxed slightly on the broom. But even so, she had killed someone, and it hadn't been an accident. She would pay for that in time, she was sure of it. And she didn't want to forget it, because it was a constant reminder of who she had become. Though she was not proud of that part of her new self, she didn't particularly mind the rest of the changes. She was now more self-confident, more independent. She didn't answer to Harry or Ron (she overlooked the fact that she never had), and she would be a friend to whomever she wanted.

Smiling gently to herself, she gave the boy in front of her a gentle squeeze, kind of like a hug from behind. Or at least, that's what it was meant to be. She thought he got the hint, though, as one of his hands came up and tenderly brushed her arm in a rather comforting way. It just made her grin even wider, and she actually opened her eyes to look up at him. He wasn't facing her, but she knew he was probably smiling too. Closing her eyes, she went back to the sightless discomfort of flying, knowing it would be worse if her eyes were open.

They gently dipped beneath the clouds, and Hermione clung more tightly to Malfoy (Draco? She still wasn't quite sure what she should be calling him, even if it was only in her head). She knew he was only looking to see where they were, but even so, it was scary enough to be flying without regular dips below the clouds.

"It shouldn't be too much longer now, and then we can walk some," he said in a strained voice. They had been riding for hours, and it was taking a toll on both of them. Hermione's arms and legs were cramping, and she was sure he was just as sore as she was. The high altitude was making them both pant, unable to get more than a cursory about of oxygen into their lungs. She nodded into his back as they flew on.

Malfoy dipped below the clouds again, and Hermione chanced a glance down before she realized what he was doing. The sudden dive whipped the air from her lungs, and her eyes teared up before she had a chance to close them against the rushing wind. They landed rather gracefully in a clearing in a small thicket, though their dismount was far clumsier than their landing. Stiff and sore, and Hermione still wiping the tears from her eyes, she slid off the broom with a resounding plop and sat there for a second, gulping up glorious, _oxygenated _air.

Draco eased himself off the broom, grimacing as his muscles complained. She gave him a wry smile and he said, "You'll probably be even worse by the time we're back at school. You won't have slept, and you'll be sore and tired, and probably grouchy." She shrugged from the ground to find even her shoulders ached from having been holding onto him for so long. She winced at the pain.

"Want some help up?" he asked, offering a hand. She took it gratefully, hauling herself to her feet. She thanked him, and he grunted in response, turning in a circle to get his bearings.

Hermione laughed, "You're soaking," she said, pointing out the obvious.

Draco gave her a funny look before answering, "As are you." It was only then that Hermione realized her clothing was soaked, and leaving a muddy puddle where she stood. Her cheeks flamed as she realized how stupid she must have sounded. Catching her expression, Draco chucked in a friendly way as he pocketed his now-small broom and picked a direction, "This way."

She followed him through to the edge of the copse and stopped. "Wow," she breathed. The sun was setting behind a far off hill, making the clouds bloody and purple. In the dying light, the town at their feet sparkled. Draco smiled at her reaction, lovingly taking her hand and leading her down the hill.

"We can't dawdle, we don't have time," he said gently. She nodded, but kept her eyes on the sunset, trusting Malfoy utterly to not let her fall as he guided her towards the town. The sun sank beneath the hills like an anchor in water, and a light rain began to fall. Malfoy swore under his breath, and she looked up at him. He smiled ruefully, "I wanted to actually dry off sometime this night."

Grinning, she nodded back at him and picked up her pace to walk side-by-side with him. For a moment, he still held her hand, as if she was still behind him and he was still leading her. But she glanced over and looked him in the eye curiously, and he seemed to realize what he was doing and let her hand drop. She choked on a sigh, refusing to let him hear the dismay in it.

They walked in silence, and the silence grew rather awkward. They trailed through town, and only when Hermione saw a few restaurants did she realize she was hungry. Her stomach gave a loud gurgle, and she blushed. Draco grinned and pulled her into a little pastry shop, where they bought several sugary breads. Feeling the need more for time than for anything else, they ate as they walked down the street, even though the drizzle made their food soggy.

However, to their empty stomachs, even soggy bread was good, and they wolfed down the food eagerly. "We can sneak into my kitchen at home, and eat more there. We should be there in about an hour."

"Where is it?" she asked.

Looking thoughtful, he cast his eyes about the hills surrounding where the sun had trickled between them like the sands of an hourglass and pointed to one house that was still illuminated by the sun's vanishing rays. He pointed at it, "There. But it'll take some time to go through the security system and such. Father's got it all set up for aurors, so it rarely lets anyone in unless you know how. And even then, if you're not father or mother or me, it'll take time, and we'd need father or my mum to program the system to let strangers in. Which means we have to go in the hard way."

Hermione swallowed the last bit of her pastry. "Malfoy, why didn't you trust your mum to just send me my wand?"

"I don't want her in my room. She'd go poking around, I know it. And then she may even do things with your wand, setting it up so that it would record what happens whenever I'm near you. No," he said flatly, "she's too curious about our relationship, or even just about you." Draco looked at her apologetically. "Sorry, but that's my mum for you."

Hermione was rather horrified by this. "She'd really do that? You're not joking?"

Malfoy looked at her, and in the lamplight of the town, his face was deadly serious, and even the rain that dripped off his hair and nose couldn't dampen the effect. "My mum would do much more to get closer to the Dark Lord's daughter. She would do anything to know what makes you tick, what disgusts you, what fascinates you. What you love." He gave her a look then, and it seemed his gaze pierced her heart. "Then she would use that information against you in any way she could, just to get you to bend to her will, just for the fun of manipulating you, breaking you. I've seen her do it. I've seen her have her fun. I don't want it to happen to you," he said tenderly, not meeting her eyes.

She melted into his voice. He did care. He did. She couldn't help the loving smile she gave him (or perhaps she only gave it to him because she knew he would not see) as he said that, or the way her heart managed to thump just a little harder than it had before. They trekked through the town and up the next hill with little conversation, and his confession hung in the air tangibly between them.

But neither made a move or a sound to clear the air, leaving the fact that he cared between them.

Breathing heavily, and thoroughly soaked from the sprinkle that had recently become a downpour, they reached the Manor. Hermione gaped up at it. In the darkness around, the outside was elegantly lit, a beckoning but cold brightness in a world of night. It was the first time she had seen the outside of Malfoy Manor, and she was impressed. It was made of stone, and looked vaguely like a castle, with two towers on either end of it and a large, arched doorway.

Malfoy pointed to the tower on the left, "That's the library. It goes down through all five floors," his hand moved to gesture at the other tower, "My room. It doesn't look round from the inside, but it is. And the tower looks small on the outside here, but its really rather roomy inside. But you already knew that, didn't you," he smiled at her.

"And…ah," he said pensively, scanning the windows. "The room right there is my mum and father's room." He squinted. "She must be in the study, doesn't look like their light is on, but the one in the study is. Hm…It must be about nine at night then, mum doesn't usually go to the study until half past eight, and she usually stays for an hour before going to the library. She usually falls asleep in one of the library's chairs," he continued as if it was a secret, "Mum doesn't usually sleep in her room anymore, not since father's been gone."

"And then…off to the right there, all you can see is a large dark window, but that's the drawing room, and then on the other side to the left is the dining room…" As he spoke, he pulled her off to the side of the huge wrought iron gates, leading her off to the right side of the house where a huge tree overhung the metal bars of the fence.

Pausing near the trunk, he turned around and encompassed her whole body within his gaze, neatly looking her up and down. Feeling exposed, she wrapped her arms around herself, knowing exactly how her muggle clothes were sticking to her skin because of the continuing rain. The corner of Draco's mouth twitched up at this, but he asked her in a slightly disappointed tone, "You've never climbed a tree, have you?"

An indignant reply dissolved upon her lips. "I did, once. When I was twelve. I couldn't get back down and haven't climbed a tree since," she said stiffly.

"Maybe you should wait out—" he began.

She didn't quite manage to stop the strangled noise before he heard it, and at his strange look, she cried, "Don't leave me out here!"

Malfoy shrugged, "It would be faster, and far easier on both of us if I did…." Eyes wide with fright, she shook her head frantically. "Okay. But I warn you not to make a sound. It may set off more alarms than we want, and we _don't _want my mum knowing we're here." Nodding solemnly, Hermione watched the boy swing easily into the tree, even though its bark was damp.

Hesitating, she gripped the lowest branch and levered herself up onto it clumsily. Her heavy clothing didn't help at all, and the fact that the tree was just as wet as she was made it even harder to climb. Draco was already a few layers above her, and had paused to look down on her ascent. Gritting her teeth and knowing how ineptly she climbed, she leaned far out and grabbed the next branch, pulling herself up onto it. The boy had already gracefully scrambled up a few more layers in the tree, where the branches were thin, and looked like they barely held his weight. He crouched down on this branch as she awkwardly clambered up the next branches, slipping and cutting her chin once. She could feel the blood drip down her neck, but knew it was not a bad injury and ignored it as she climbed.

At last, she reached the branch just under where he knelt. Breathing heavily, she looked up at him defiantly, as if daring him to tell her just how incompetent she was at climbing. She wiped off the blood that had dripped down her neck and his eyes looked at her concernedly at the wound. But he said nothing, and she took his cue to mean that now they were entering dangerous territory, and could not speak.

He pulled his broomstick out of his pocket and changed it back to its original size. Looking down at her and then to the house indecisively, he chose to risk it and leaned down close to her, quickly whispering, "stay low" in her ear. She nodded, ignoring the way his quiet voice sent warm shivers down her spine.

Like a monkey, Draco expertly scampered down to the edge of the branch. Hermione was surprised it still held his weight, but hold it did, and he mounted his broom at the very end of it. He carefully held his broom parallel to the end of the tree branch, as if the alarm would trip if he went beyond that. He looked back to her, and his gray eyes asked her to come.

Biting her lip, she followed his example, staying low to the branch, and just dropping onto the broom at the end. She marveled at the speed he'd managed on the wet branch—she had nearly fallen off of it. Malfoy leaned far forward, as if trying to melt into the broomstick, and she followed his lead, nearly lying down on his back. Unsure of where to hold on, she wrapped her arms tightly around his body and disregarded the press of the wood of the broom against her wrists.

Draco edged out over the end of the branch. Hermione wondered what the sensors (were there sensors?) thought of this. Maybe they just thought the tree was growing? It might have looked like that from the side. Maybe the rain even helped them now, as it might disguise them even a little from the sensors? She snapped her jaws shut on a gasp as they suddenly dove down toward the grass. She sat up a little, only to lurch forward as Malfoy grabbed her wrist and yanked her down. They hung there, mere inches above the ground, waiting for some sign that they had set off the alarm.

Exhaling, Draco urged the broom across the neatly trimmed lawns, and they zipped over to the wall. She could practically feel him grinning. He lived for this, the rush of excitement from the overwhelming sense of risk and danger, and she could feel it. She grinned with him then, because even though she couldn't see it, she could feel his happiness, and it was contagious.

But instead of stopping in the little alcove on the wall, Draco banked sharply, and they went vertically up the wall. Hermione wrapped her legs and arms tighter around the broom, feeling Malfoy flinch as her arms cut into his sides. It was so swift that it was only for a few seconds, this vertical flying, and then they reached the tower room. "Dismount," he barked quietly to her.

"W—what?" she said. She could see nowhere to stand but where a stone had come loose from the wall and created a ledge about three inches wide, and it was probably slick with rain.

"Dismount," he hissed. "Stand on that ledge."

Shaking, she unwrapped her legs and slid off the edge of the broom. "Faster," he urged frantically.

Before letting go, she looked up at him one last time. "I trust you," she said, not knowing why she said it. They both understood. She was trusting him not to leave her there. She dropped onto the ledge and teetered for a moment before he grabbed her shoulder and slammed her up against the wall. She choked on a cough as her breath puffed out, but managed to not make a sound, and held herself up against the wall as stiffly as a board may, reluctant to fall from five stories up.

Draco dropped back down into the alcove and disappeared from sight. He did not come up again from there, having gone somewhere else entirely. She closed her eyes against the darkness and carefully concentrated on not moving. A window above her head opened quietly, though she could hear it. Her heart pounded as she squirmed to stare up at the window, unsure if it was Malfoy or his mother, and not knowing what would happen if it was the latter.

It was just Draco, and he looked down on her from right above her head. In fact, she had not noticed (in the rain, she hadn't been able to see it, and she'd been too worried about the fact that the ledge she was supposed to stand on was only about three inches wide) that it was actually only a few inches above her head. He offered her his hand, and she gripped it, grimacing at how wet and slippery both of them were. She spun slowly on the ledge to face him, bracing herself with his weight. _He won't let me fall, _she told herself quietly.

As if he had heard her thoughts, his hand gripped her even harder, and though it was a little painful, it was more comforting than anything else could have been right then. Finally, she had her belly to the wall. Draco reached down and took her other arm close to the shoulder, then slid his other hand to grip her there as well. Putting her hands on the sill, and with his help, they heaved her up and over, where she promptly fell flat on him.

For a second, they did not move, and their eyes met. But then a drop of water dripped on him, and they remembered that they were here, soaking wet, and that they were here for a reason and mustn't be caught. Malfoy eased her off him and went to close the window. She stood up too, and went over to the bed and took her wand off the nightstand. As one, they glanced to the ceiling for the clock.

Draco wrinkled his nose, a childish gesture that made Hermione burst into a short-lived laugh. "It took us nearly seven hours to get here." He turned back to her. "You got it? Good. We can visit the kitchens before we go, I'm starved, even after what we ate in that town." She nodded her head eagerly, and he grinned at her.

But then his grin fell, and he turned serious. "We can't make a noise. We can't let the house elves see us, unless I expressly allow them to. If mum knows we're here, there will be trouble, but there are a few elves loyal to me and who will not tell my mum anything," smirking, he added, "Of course, that's most of the nighttime kitchen staff. Mum seems to think that even a growing boy needs to eat daintily. I usually have to slip down there for more food after dinner."

Hermione smiled back at him. He went to the closet and pulled out a set of clothing. Biting the inside of his lip, he looked back to her and examined her closely, at length pulling another pair of pants from the closet and then going over to a chest of drawers and rummaging through two drawers before he found a shirt. Handing the second outfit to her, Draco said, "These should fit you okay…if they don't, we'll find something else, but we need to get out of these wet clothes before we do anything. We'll get sick.

"You can change in the bathroom again," he said. Nodding, she took the clothes and went through the door. She stripped off her wet attire, folding the items neatly, and then she dried off her undergarments with a twist of her wand. The jeans she pulled on were a little too long, and really baggy, but they fit her around the waist and were dry—she wasn't about to complain. The shirt was black (_typical of him_, she thought in exasperation) and a wife beater, and she dragged it on. The shirt was a little long, but it didn't look too bad. She tucked her wand in one of the huge pockets of the pants and went to use the brush she'd used last time. Halfway through brushing her hair, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she said. Draco poked his head in and looked exasperated, though her clothing seemed to amuse him.

"You don't have time to brush your hair," he informed her.

"Well, too bad. If it dries like this, it'll be really tangled. I don't want it to be tangled," she told him.

Sighing, he tapped his foot impatiently as she finished brushing her hair. "See, done, let's go." She picked up her clothes from the floor and looked at them uncertainly.

"Leave them. You can get them next time we're over. Anyways, it'd be good for you to have some other change of clothes here so you won't have to wear mine next time. The Dark Lord likes having parties over here. Though he doesn't usually attend, he will most likely send you more so that they'll get used to you." She glanced down at the Dark Mark that marred the beautiful skin of his left forearm.

"Probably," she agreed.

"Half past ten," he said, glancing up. "We should be back at school by six in the morning," he said, as if this was good news. She smiled wearily at him, and they left. As they haunted the halls, they jumped at every sound, dove into niches at the slightest sign of someone coming. Often, they ended up in cramped positions in alcoves, waiting for the steps to pass, and then they would scurry on their way.

More surprising than the amount of house elves that wandered the halls at night (therefore determining the number of times the couple had to dive into alcoves and niches or behind corners) was the fact that Hermione didn't particularly mind the cramped quarters with Draco. She didn't care that they were squashed up together in the small recesses if his walls, though she had the sneaking feeling she would mind if it were anyone else.

Finally they reached the kitchens, and Malfoy gave a childish knock that rang with a tone, as children who usually make code-knocks so their friends know who is at the door. A confused house elf opened the door in confusion, frowning when it caught sight of them. "Master Malfoy should not be here!" it squeaked uncertainly.

"I know, that's why you won't ever tell my mum or have another elf tell my mum. In fact, you won't say a word of my visit tonight. That's an order," he said, brushing past it. Hermione hesitated, then followed after, scowling at his harsh tones. Seeing her look, he rolled his eyes, "I had to, that's one of my mum's elves. Would tell her anything if I didn't expressly order him not to."

Still uncertain, Hermione nodded, and he miraculously got halfway through the room before the elves swarmed him. "Master Malfoy, sir, you have returned!" one squeaked. She heard another high voice say, "Master Malfoy, it is you, sir!" and several other similar greetings as they all mobbed him with hugs. She was shocked at the display of affection toward him, and he turned back to her grinning.

"Everyone, this is Hermione, she's a friend of mine." The house elves' faces lit up at this, and they all ran over to mob her as well, except for a few, who stayed by Malfoy to ask what he wished for. She heard at least a dozen greetings, and she smiled down at the house elves.

"Oh, Miss Hermione is so gracious and beautiful, she is!" one elf piped up. Hiding a grin, she asked his name. He bowed so that his nose touched the ground and squeaked, "Miss, I am Fenens, Miss!"

"Thank you for the complement, Fenens," she said. Many of the other elves squeaked happily and tried to comment her some more, but she looked over at Malfoy, who was looking at her in amusement from a small kitchen table laden with food. Grinning at Draco's amusement, she turned to the elves, and said, "Thank you, but we really must eat and be on our way." She waded through the crowd of elves and slumped into the seat across from Draco.

"Coffee?" he offered. Looking disgusted, she nodded. Personally, she hated the taste of coffee, but she would need the caffeine before too long. He laughed at her look and poured her a cup before they fell upon the food and ate in silence. As she reached for her second cup of coffee and made a face at the taste, gulping it down despite it, Malfoy burst into laughter. She politely put down the mug of coffee and looked at him.

When Draco's laughter was under control, she asked, "And what exactly is so funny?"

"Well, we…you…" Though he had clearly tried not to, he exploded into another fit of giggles. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just, we have soda. And I was going to wait for you to ask for something else to drink with caffeine, but the look on your face was so cute when you drank it…" he wiped a tear from his eye and looked at her.

Her own look at him was murderous, and he chucked again. Fenens, having caught the gist of their conversation, offered her a can of coke. Seeing that she took it, several other elves offered some to her too, and she accepted from all of them. She drank three sodas before they left, and when she was sure the other boy wasn't looking, carefully cast a charm to quicken her digestive system so that she could use the bathroom before they left and get all the fluids out of her body and wouldn't have to stop them on their way back to Hogwarts.

Before they left, she asked him if they could stop at the bathroom first. Nodding, they scampered down a hall, and into the office/study room that she'd been in when meeting Voldemort before the ball. He pointed to the door to the bathroom, and she followed the point of his arm gratefully, already feeling the charm working.

When she was done, he went, and she looked at some of the books on the shelves around the room. There were some rather interesting texts there, and she marveled at the rarity of some of them. Then he came out again, and they were ready to go. "We'll go out the front door this time. I reset the alarms. They should stay off for the next ten minutes." They hurried down the hall, leaving his house through the front door this time.

His broomstick waited outside the door for them. Giving her a tired look, they mounted once again and flew off into the night…

* * *

Ginny waited, thinking over the finer details of her plan. Oho, was Hermione ever in for it. As soon as she got back from her current rendezvous with Malfoy, there would be some serious blackmail opportunities. Being a prefect, she was allowed to wander the halls at night (within reason) but you couldn't be over cautious. She paused at a corner as the Bloody Baron floated by before continuing. She wasn't sure what time Hermione would be back, but she knew she'd be coming from the outside (another undisclosed look at the Marauder's Map had told her they weren't in the castle), and she would wait for them, catch them together.

Then her plans would be cemented.

* * *

Hermione and Malfoy landed at the edge of the forest, pulling on their robes. Deciding it was still early enough that they had time to walk it, they opted to do that rather than sit, as sore and weary as they were, on the broom again. Thankfully, though, both had managed to stay awake on the return trip, though they were as dripping wet as when they'd arrived at Malfoy Manor. Walking would also ease this, and it was voted a good idea all around.

They walked in silence, too weary (though alert because of the caffeine) to make speech. It had come to the point where they were beyond sleep, and just didn't feel sleepy any more, which may have also been helped because of how their bodies ached from being on the broom. It took them the better part of an hour, but they finally reached the doors to the Entrance Hall. Draco grasped the handle, and then there was a little cough behind them. They turned slowly around, Hermione's mind panicking.

It was just Ginny, though she had the largest grin on her face. Hermione felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Ginny didn't look like she'd gotten much sleep either, but seemed to be wide awake and in a good mood now that she'd caught her prey. "Hermione…I think we need to talk."

Stifling a groan, Hermione waved Malfoy away. He walked inside, and the doors closed behind him with a soft snap. Pessimistically, Hermione equaled the closing of the door to the closing of her future will and freedom. She didn't know how right she was.

Grinning just as widely as Umbridge (and giving her the same sick feeling the former professor had), Ginny led her over to a rock by the lake. They sat down on it together, and Hermione tried to think of something—anything!—that would help her out of this situation, but her mind had fled with Draco, and her teeth seemed stuck together with a sticking spell so she couldn't speak.

"Oh, Hermione, my dear, dear Hermione. You do realize how much trouble you'll be in for this…infidelity to Harry and Ron." She nodded dumbly as the redhead went on. "However," Ginny examined her nails, "I could keep quiet about your little…tryst with Malfoy, if…"

In the prolonged silence that followed before Ginny stated her demands, Hermione thought that she would throw up if she had anything in her stomach. This was beginning to be a nightmare, and the worst part was that she was still awake!

"Well, see, I happen to know someone who would be very happy if you returned their fancy for you," Ginny said after Hermione broke and squirmed with impatience. The brunette's drooping head snapped up and she stared at the younger girl.

"Oh, yes, Hermione. I am asking you to tell my brother you fancy him. And you are going to act like you do, or I am going to tell both of them all about your little nighttime meetings with Malfoy. In fact, I believe you were just telling me this morning about how you were going to ask my brother to go out with you during lunch today?" she phrased it as a question, but they both knew it was a demand.

Hermione's dumb stare turned into a glare. "You are an evil malevolent bitch, and this is blackmail, and you know it. I will do as you wish, _Master._" Without even a warning as to what she was planning on doing to Ginny, she strode off to the castle. She didn't look back, because she didn't want to see the smug look she knew Ginny wore.

* * *

The rest of the day was a living hell. Hermione sat through Ron's and Harry's rant and found herself nearly falling asleep. She went through her classes without her usual luster, and she wasn't the first to get the spells correct or to raise her hand. She was absolutely exhausted.

And finally lunch came. Hermione felt sick and did not eat. Halfway through the meal, she pushed her clean plate away and looked at Ron until he looked back up at her. "Ron, can I talk to you?" she said, the words feeling unclean and hard in her mouth. He looked at Harry for approval, and he reluctantly nodded. Ron and Hermione walked out of the Great Hall and into the Entrance Hall, where she stood nervously near the far wall.

Ron looked ready to pace, but instead turned to her with a blistering gaze. She didn't even have the energy to wilt under it. "Ron…I…" she couldn't meet his eyes and looked away. "Ron, there's something I need to tell you…I—I fancy you. And…I was just wondering if you would…if you would be my boyfriend?" He had stiffened, but at her last words, he came up to stand in front of her (he really was far too close) and looking her one last time in the eyes, kissed her hard.

It was over rather quickly, and Hermione hid the disgusted look on her face before he could see it. He looked her in the eyes, and a slow, tender smile filled his face, echoed in his eyes. "I'd love to," he said softly.

* * *

Draco felt sick. He'd fallen asleep in Charms class and was coming to lunch late, and of all the things he had to see, he had to witness Hermione asking another guy out, and then Weasley kissing Hermione. No, she wasn't Hermione. She was Granger, always. A mixture of dismay, anger, and…jealously (a new sensation for him) welled up in him and he turned away, deciding that he'd rather eat in the kitchen.

And though he tried, he could not ignore the tears in his eyes, nor the startling and dismaying fact that he was actually jealous of Weasley over something he hadn't quite realized he'd wanted. And a small thought in the back of his head whispered the truth he'd rather not hear: he'd give anything to be in Weasley's shoes at that moment.

* * *

_Oh don't mind me I'm watching you two from the closet  
Wishing to be the friction in your jeans  
Isn't it messed up how I'm just dying to be him_

—Fall Out Boy "Sugar, We're Goin' Down"


	9. Chapter 8: Back to square one?

A/N: Sorry if you thought this took a while to get out, I had some indecisions over how to write it and whether or not to put the long-awaited-for kiss in this chapter. I hope you all like the result. I answered some of your questions at the bottom, by the way, so be sure to check there. And, Ginny's real name is Ginerva, so I don't want to hear people telling me otherwise. You can go to w w w . j k r o w l i n g . c o m and read it under the character's section (be sure to take out the spaces in the URL, but it wouldn't let me keep it otherwise).

CHAPTER 8: Back to square one…?

Sighing tremendously, Hermione pulled herself into bed just as soon as classes were over. She silently thanked whoever had made her schedule, because her last class on Monday was Ancient Runes, and neither Harry nor Ron took that class, so she was able to slip away without them being able to stop her. Nearly asleep already, she silently thanked herself for taking more classes than were required for her chosen profession—she wouldn't have much time to be spending with Harry and Ron even when the three of them had free periods together (which only happened on Tuesday and Wednesday morning, for though she had free periods on Tuesday and Friday afternoon as well, they were in classes then, though they had more free periods overall). That, at least, was a relief.

She was asleep less than a minute after her head hit the pillow, and did not wake even when Lavender and Parvati came in squealing and wanting all the juicy details about her and Ron now being boyfriend and girlfriend.

The next morning, Hermione yawned and stretched and pulled herself out of bed feeling enormously well rested. She was startled to realize she'd never changed out of Draco's clothes and hugged herself happily. Memories of Draco were good…but then she remembered Ginny, and the blackmail, and the fact that she now had a boyfriend…a boyfriend she didn't even like as more than a friend.

Hermione found herself silently hoping Draco would understand before she caught herself. _Why would he even care if I've got a boyfriend? _She thought, and was surprised to find how miserable this thought made her. She slogged her way down to breakfast to be greeted rather over-zealously by Ron. Choking down her discomfort at his nearness, she grinned back at him, happy as a new girlfriend should be.

Draco walked in late and when she caught his eye, a helpless gleam in hers, he just sneered at her and turned away. Yawning hugely to make an excuse for the tears in her eyes at his greeting, she turned back to her breakfast and managed to swallow a whole piece of toast before feeling thoroughly sick. She could tell that today would be hell, but maybe she could sneak in another nap after History of Magic. That was a free period that she shared with Harry and Ron, so it would be an excuse to not be hanging out with them and would also make her feel less sleepy, for though she'd woken up nice and well rested, being greeted by Malfoy like that made her already ache for sleep.

On the way to History of Magic, Ron slid his hand around hers, and she would have taken it back to do some paltry thing like rummage through her book bag for a book she was suddenly worried she'd forgotten or to tie her shoelace, but she caught sight of Ginny. The young redhead looked smug, with a sly smirk on her face that shouted louder than words that she had won. It made Hermione want to punch her, or at least hex her, but then she noticed Ron was asking her something and looking worriedly down at her. She gave him a reassuring smile and huddled up closer to him, surreptitiously casting Ginny a glance as they passed. The fifth year's smirk had merely broadened, and with a swish of her red hair, she swept off.

Feeling ready to vomit, Hermione looked up at Ron again, false contentment in her eyes. He smiled adoringly at her, and they continued down the hall.

History of Magic made Hermione want to fall asleep for the first time in her six years at Hogwarts that day. She wanted to drift off into the safe clutches of sleep, but knew she couldn't and focused even harder on her notes for the lesson. By the end of the lesson, she'd copied down everything Professor Binns had said in something very close to verbatim.

She yawned all the way up the stairs to the common room, unable to help herself. By the time they'd reached the seventh floor, Ron was only just beginning to notice how tired she looked. When he asked her about it, she said, "Yeah, I'm feeling really tired. I think I might go and take a nap before lunch." Smiling as if reluctant, she apologized about her sleepiness.

"Well, you could always come and sleep down here while me and Harry work on finishing that Defense Against the Dark Arts paper due after lunch," Ron hinted.

Pretending to not notice how much he wanted her to fall asleep on his shoulder, she shook her head, "no, thanks though, Ron." Yawning hugely again, she said, "I'll see you guys at lunch. Or maybe just in History of Magic again, if I'm too tired to go to lunch." Why they had History of Magic both before and after lunch on Tuesdays was beyond her, but for the moment, she was just pleased to have the break and free period and lunch in between.

Ron gaped at her. "She wasn't at dinner last night," Harry reminded him.

"Right," Ron said. "We finally have a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. So we have new schedules now. After lunch today we have double Defense Against the Dark arts. Here's your schedule," he passed her a crumpled piece of paper and she examined it. All her classes were the same, but her classes on Tuesday afternoon were moved to Wednesday afternoon, and DADA was moved to today. Ron kissed her before urging her to sleep well, and Harry echoed his suggestion as she walked up to the dormitory, where she fell into a fitful sleep after setting her alarm.

Hermione awoke miserably, her hair in a mess, her clothing rumpled, and in a bad mood. She was in no way prepared for her life to continue like this. _Unfortunately, _she thought, _I don't have a choice._ She dragged herself out of bed and snatched up her book bag. As she'd predicted, she'd ditched lunch and now needed to head all the way to Defense Against The Dark Arts within ten minutes. Not even bothering to fix her appearance, she pulled on her robe and hastily walked to class, arriving just in time.

She walked in and settled down next to Ron, who had saved her a seat. She looked up to the front of the room to examine their new teacher, who looked suspiciously like Oliver Wood, but older than Oliver could be. The young man (he couldn't have been over 22) looked up and smiled at the class. "Hello students," he said, and she glanced over at Lavender, who seemed to be drooling a little. "I'm Professor Wood. Some of you may have known my little brother Oliver, formerly captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team. I hear Mister Potter is captain now," he scanned the room and his eyes alit on Harry. "Congratulations."

Harry blushed slightly and muttered a thanks. Hermione wondered where she'd seen him before. He looked familiar, and she knew it wasn't just because he was Oliver's older brother. She stared at him hard before she remembered. She had seen him with Oliver at the Quidditch World Cup. She relaxed in her seat and listened to what he was saying, glad to have finally placed him.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was a happy affair, as all the Gryffindors were happy to have someone even slightly familiar as their teacher. They all went about their tasks eagerly, finding him just as interesting and as fun a teacher as Lupin was. Though he wasn't quite settled in yet, he already had several dark detectors like Moody had, and quite a few tanks of exciting creatures, a few pictures of his family on his desk, and even a cage of what looked like pixies. She grimaced and hoped he wouldn't make the same mistake Lockhart had.

By the time the double class was over, most of the Gryffindors stayed to talk to their new professor (particularly the female ones—_their new professor did look rather dashing_, she agreed inwardly), though Hermione and Harry and Ron went on their way. They headed up to Gryffindor tower to dispose of their books before dinner, and Ron tenderly held Hermione's hand all the way. When a staircase decided to move halfway up, he hastily (and being painful in his haste, though she didn't show it) stabilized the both of them, giving her a loving look. To all of this she just smiled weakly until a thought hit her.

She should use a cheering charm on herself. That way, no one would be able to tell that she really didn't like Ron all that much, because she would like _everything. _It was a perfect idea. She would do so as soon as she was in the relative safety of her dormitory.

So it was that she descended the stairs with a goofy grin on her face and rambling on about something incoherently. She smiled indulgently to Ron, who scooped her up into a hug and kissed her fiercely the second she came down. She giggled at him and let him lace their fingers together on their way to dinner.

She managed to keep back her gleeful muttering, but couldn't help looking and feeling excessively happy during dinner. She ate a hearty meal for the first time in a while, and even leaned on Ron's shoulder when she saw Ginny staring at her. By the end of dinner, though, the cheering charm was beginning to wear off, and her smile was slippery to hold onto. She was beginning to feel drained from the whole day, and found herself wishing her week would not be like this. She needed…she didn't know what she needed until she met pale gray eyes across the room.

She needed Draco. That was what she needed. Even as their eyes dropped from each other, she knew she needed him. He would listen to her, hold her, understand her… Without even trying, a smile wiggled onto her mouth as she thought indulgently of their next meeting. The only thing was finding some time, some place, where they could meet unseen and unheard.

Ron eased himself out from under her and cast a significant look at Harry that Hermione nearly missed and didn't understand at all. She quietly obeyed his pulling at her hand and followed him out of the Great Hall. Her face still held a gentle smile as he led her down into a hallway. His gaze upon her (which she hadn't noticed) became hungry, lustful.

A tendril of fear found pierced her heart when she saw that gaze. Not even bothering to pull her into a room, as soon as her eyes met his, he went wild. Ron slammed her back into a wall, and she coughed as her breath was ripped from her lungs. It actually reminded her of a similar situation at Malfoy Manor, except she'd been slammed into the wall so she wouldn't fall off, and she'd been willing. Pressing himself up against her, he began to kiss her intensely as his hands inched up her upper body.

Still coughing a little, she pushed him off of her, "Ron, no." Unfortunately, he must have misinterpreted her, because the cheering charm turned her voice high and playful, and the smile that played on her lips must not be helping him understand her words. Ron grinned wolfishly down at her, and she once again felt the sting of fear. He kissed her passionately again, and she tried to push him away, but whenever she got any space at all, he would just smile again at her (because she was smiling too) and dive in again.

But then suddenly the redhead's body wasn't pressed up against her, and she could breathe again. She took several desperate, gulping gasps before she even realized what was going on. A cloaked figure (she nearly snorted at how cliché that was) was holding Ron away from her, and Ron was looking up at him furiously. The figure inclined his (she assumed it was male) head to her before letting Ron go. Ron turned belligerent immediately, swinging high at the person. He ducked the blow and punched Ron before he even knew what was coming. The redhead stumbled backward under the force of the blow and tripped, laying sprawled on the floor and clutching his face in pain.

The figure walked over to her and a long finger caressed her face, making her shiver. "You disgust me," he murmured, and she despaired. It was Draco, she knew it. It was his voice, and though it wasn't his usual drawl (Ron would figure that out, thickheaded as he was), it was still him.

Before leaving, he turned to the boy gathering himself up from the floor. Precisely and clearly, he said, "If a girl says no, she means it. If you do that again, I will rip your heart out with my bare hands." Ron aimed to charge at him, but Hermione scurried over and put her hand on his shoulder to calm him. He shook it off but didn't follow Draco.

Hermione pulled her wand out of her pocket, only just remembering that it was there. She moved Ron's hands out of the way to see that his left eye was bruised near his nose, and his nose was broken again. Meeting his eyes, he looked just as bewildered as she felt. "Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey," she suggested and led him the way.

* * *

That night, the three friends sat in the common room. As Ginny was staring at her in annoyance, and seemed just ready to blurt out Hermione's secret, she leaned against Ron. Grinning, he wrapped his arm around her. Ginny smirked and returned to penning a letter, and Hermione turned her attention to Harry, who was gazing at her with a look she couldn't place. When their eyes met, he hastily looked away and continued his homework. Hermione asked Ron if he'd finished the History Of Magic essay due tomorrow.

"No, but me and Harry've got the whole morning free tomorrow, so I can finish it then," he said, stifling a yawn. It was getting kind of late, and so Hermione rose and bid her friends a goodnight. Smiling sneakily, Ginny did the same and followed her up.

Hermione turned at her door and glared at Ginny. "What is it now?" she snarled at the girl.

Ginny's eyes widened, feigning innocence. "Oh, Hermione, isn't it wonderful and you're dating my brother now?" she asked loudly, so that their voices would echo down into the common room for Harry and Ron to hear.

"Of course, Gin! He's wonderful," she said enthusiastically. "Well, goodnight," she opened the door to her room and then turned around and smacked Ginny as hard as she could, hoping it would sound like a door closing. It sort of did, and she was sure no one could tell the difference in the common room. She smirked at Ginny, knowing she wouldn't say anything. If Ginny said something they wouldn't believe her, and there was no way at all to prove it.

"Don't say you didn't deserve that, Gin," she said quietly before shutting her door silently.

Ignoring Lavender and Parvati's pleas for gossip, Hermione slipped into her PJs and fell into bed. However, sleep refused to kiss her with its calming presence. She sat and listened to Lavender and Parvati prattle on about pointless things for another half an hour before they went to sleep. She lay awake for nearly another two hours before coming to terms with the fact that she wasn't going to be sleeping any time soon. She squirmed out of bed and dressed silently, pulling on a dark cloak over that instead of a robe.

She was going to see Draco, and she was not going to take no for an answer. Creeping around the halls was becoming second nature to her by now, and so she slunk around corners until she reached the wall to get into Slytherin. She whispered the password and sidled into the near empty room. A couple of students were wearily finishing up essays but they were all too tired to pay attention to her as she edged up the stairs to the boy's dormitories.

She entered the cold room and picked out Draco's bed from memory. There was a soft murmur coming from behind the curtains, and she pulled them back a little. Draco lay fast asleep, though his blankets were rumpled, and his sheets twisted about him. "No," he muttered. "Why are you…like such a whore? Please…with Weasley? I could give you more than he ever could… Oh, Hermione," he breathed her name like it was velvet, and now she was apprehensive about waking him. She stood and looked down at him for at least another fifteen minutes, although time did not seem to matter at the moment. She pulled her hood back to get a better look at him.

His blonde hair was mussed, and her fingers itched to move a strand away from where it fell across his eye. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and the Dark Mark stood out against the pale skin of his left arm and the white sheets. _He does have a rather beautiful body,_ she thought to herself. _And he's really a wonderful person once you get to know him…_" before she quite realized it, her fingers brushed away the hair that lay across his eye. He leaned into her touch, still asleep.

"Mmm…Hermione," he murmured, and he rolled over onto his side as he settled into a more restful sleep. Unwilling to wake him now, she carefully began to disentangle him from the sheets, which was a hard job considering she didn't want to wake him. That done, she pulled the comforter over him too and smiled at his prone body. On an impulse, she gathered her hair in one hand so it wouldn't fall on him and gently kissed him on the forehead. She turned to go.

"What are you doing here?" said a hard voice behind her. She stiffened and turned back to the bed she'd just abandoned, her eyes wide with fear.

"I—I came to talk to you," she said quietly. "But then, you were asleep," she explained hastily, "And I didn't want to wake you. I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. His pale gaze seemed to see right through her, and she gave a small, hopeful smile.

"Get out," he said.

"But…won't you at least come talk to me?" she said, hurt by the harshness of his tone.

"No. Leave now before I wake up everyone else in here," he growled menacingly.

"But," she said, tears filling her eyes at his betrayal.

"No. I said go," he said, his voice raising. Someone rolled over in his bed. She set her jaw and refused to cry.

"Fine, Malfoy," she said stiffly. _But I will get you to talk to me, somehow, _she vowed to herself as she turned on her heel and left, barely remembering to pull up her hood as she crossed through the common room. _I don't want to be back at square one with you. That would make us enemies again, and I love you too much for that._

* * *

Draco leaned back in his bed, amazed at how hard it had been to turn her away. But…she had betrayed him by going to Weasley. _No, she didn't betray me, _he told himself. _It's not like she promised me anything. She's free to go off and snog whoever she likes. _He tried not to think about earlier that day.

_Except that she didn't want to snog him, _he thought restlessly. _But then why would she be going out with him? _He wondered. "I'm not jealous of him," he growled to the room. Not expecting an answer, he fell back into his bed and pulled his blankets up close to him, remembering how she'd smoothed them out over him when they'd been tangled. He'd woken up while she was halfway through the process, the constant small movements slowly waking him. At first he'd thought he was dreaming, but now he knew he wasn't.

He'd been dreaming before that though, he remembered. In his dream…_well, actually, _he thought, _it was pretty accurate to the current situation. _Sighing, he settled into his bed, and he couldn't stop the small smile that curved his mouth, and he couldn't help but feel her small kiss throbbing in his forehead. _I could be a better boyfriend to her,_ he thought drowsily. _Weasley doesn't—and probably won't ever—treat her right. No, she deserves far better than him.

* * *

Hermione wandered the halls aimlessly. But then she saw a small shadow duck behind a statue down a hall. She hid quickly, and saw the shadow run down the hall. Curious, and knowing she would manage nothing else this night if she didn't; she warily followed the small, cloaked person. Looking around, the person knocked on a door. It took Hermione a moment to realize where they were and where that door led to._

That was the door to Professor Wood's quarters. Looking confused, the handsome young man opened the door. Hermione nearly laughed at the look on his face, understanding completely: who expected visitors near 1 in the morning? However, her breath caught when the hood was pulled back and Ginny was standing there. "Hi. I know you probably won't recognize me, but we've been pen pals for nearly two years. It's me, Ginerva."

The professor looked taken aback. "Wait, _you _are Ginerva?" Grinning, Ginny nodded enthusiastically. "Oh…er…I wasn't expecting company, and the place is a bit of a mess, but would you like to come in?"

Ginny nodded, smiling sweetly at him, and as she checked that no one was in the hall, Hermione could see the adoring gleam in the young girl's eye. The door clicked shut, and she was tempted to put her ear up against it and listen in. But no, if anything was going to happen there, it wouldn't happen tonight, they'd only just met in person.

Hermione realized Ginny had probably seen him at the Quidditch World Cup as she had. Though it was a lot of guesswork, Hermione supposed that Gin had probably gotten a little crush on him when she'd seen him, even if he was 6 years older than her. _Actually, _she mused, _it was probably closer to five. _Shrugging, she stood to go.

Her attention fully encompassed by the small glimmer of hope that if something romantic came of Ginny and her pen pal, Hermione would have ideal blackmail information. Neither Harry nor Ron would approve of little Ginny having relations with a teacher, and if Harry and Ron couldn't daunt her, then she was sure Dumbledore finding out would. Smirking, she realized she would need to keep an eye on this.

"Now, what is a student doing out of bed at this time of morning?" a cold sneer said. She mentally weighed her chances of fleeing versus begging and realized he'd probably hex her before she got anywhere. She slowly turned to face Snape, her shoulders slumping.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she apologized, pulling down the hood of her cloak. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought a walk may help me clear my mind." She gave him a wry smile. "It didn't, but I was heading back up to bed anyway. I suppose I'm going to get detention for this, Professor?"

"Eager to get a detention, Miss Granger?" he smirked, and she opened her mouth to interrupt before an idea hit her. If she could get Malfoy in detention too, maybe they could serve it together…! Then he would be forced to listen to her! Snape continued, "Well, since you seem so eager, three weeks of detention. Every night. I will go and figure out what exactly you are to do. Now, off to bed, Miss Granger, before I give you even more detention." She turned to leave and hurried off. To her back, he called, "Oh, and seventy-five points off Gryffindor for being out late!"

Sighing, she determined to make up those points again in classes the rest of the week. But now she had several thoughts in her head, about Malfoy, about getting Draco in trouble so he'd serve detention with her, about Ginny, and then a few more about her own feelings for Draco. As she settled into bed, thinking about how she was never going to get to sleep with all these thoughts running around her head, a wave of exhaustion hit her, and before she knew it, she was asleep.

Though it seemed improbable, with the little amount of sleep she'd gotten, Hermione woke up feeling refreshed. She was ready to make some trouble today, and she would have plenty of fun doing it. She went down to breakfast, and ate for a while with Harry and Ron before suddenly "remembering" that she'd left her book upstairs. She hastily got up before she caught Ginny's pointed look. Feeling a surge of hatred for Ginny, she leaned down and pecked Ron's cheek before running up to Gryffindor tower.

She carefully went up into Harry and Ron's room, having made sure that Dean and Seamus and Neville were all at breakfast too, and she searched the room for a Filibuster Firework or some other item she could use to cause trouble. She came upon several dungbombs in Seamus's trunk, and she quickly cast the charm to duplicate some for herself. It didn't work. Growling in annoyance at the anti-multiplying charm on them, she just took several before slinking up to her room.

In her room she opened her trunk and took out several vials of polyjuice potion. She'd saved these from second year, not having a use for them, but unwilling to waste the potion that had taken her so long to make. Smirking, she stuffed them in her book bag. Now it was only a matter of time until she could pull off her trick.

Hermione went back down to the Great Hall and finished her breakfast before telling Ron and Harry she was off to the library to study. She trudged to the library and picked a book, settling down to read it until she had Arithmancy. Ron came in five minutes before she had to go and asked her to read over what he'd written for History Of Magic. She read what he had, which was all written messily and in large writing and quickly edited some of it before she ran out of time.

Wishing her to have a good time in Ancient Runes, Ron kissed her cheek as both a farewell and a thanks as she hurried out of the room. She ignored the fact that he got the class wrong, though it bristled at her that he was supposed to be her boyfriend and he was getting her schedule wrong already. For heaven's sake, she didn't have Ancient Runes again until Friday! _Ah, well, _she shrugged it off, _At least he knows one of the classes I don't take with him._

So off she went to Arithmancy, and wondered during the whole class what Malfoy had been about last night. She was really hurt by him. Hermione had been hoping that he would understand, and knew he would. But instead, he'd thrown it in her face and kicked her out. She looked balefully at her note-filled paper and tried to figure out how to get some of his hair. She supposed she could go and take one from him during break, or while there were crowds flocking to the Great Hall for lunch or dinner.

_Or I could wait until Friday and get it from him in Ancient Runes, on our way out. _Though they did not sit next to each other, neither was near the door, so she may manage to pull it off so long as he didn't jump out of his seat and dash out the door the minute class was over.

So she settled herself to wait, and the rest of the week was rather routine, except for Ron trying to get her alone with him every second to snog her (which she managed to keep avoiding, by some miracle or another). When she ran into Draco once that week, all he did was sneer and glower at her, and she meekly backed down. He would hate her even more once she got him in trouble for something he didn't do, and she didn't want him to be any angrier with her than he already was.

Though, she didn't quite understand what she had done to make him so furious with her.

But finally Ancient Runes came and went, and Hermione dashed to the door. The other students crowded out around her, and Malfoy was about in the middle. She joined the small flurry of people and yanked out a couple of hairs, disappearing before he could even turn around. She triumphantly entered the nearest bathroom, taking out the vials she'd been carrying around all week. She put a hair in each of three vials (no knowing how long it may take to get caught and then get sentenced for trouble), and saved the other two for later use.

Beaming at the genius of her plan, she fairly waltzed down the halls to the Great Hall, and was too distracted to be disgusted by Ron's sloppy kiss.

The next few days, Hermione wore Draco's clothing beneath her school robe and a shrunken robe of his in her pocket. And finally, on Sunday evening, she spotted her chance. Draco was walking down a hall not far from the library hallway. Smirking, she cast a sleeping charm on him and stuffed him in an empty classroom, locking the door with a more complicated charm that wouldn't be taught until seventh year.

She put herself in an empty classroom and drank one of her three polyjuice potions, taking out one of the dungbombs from her pocket and pulling on Draco's stolen robe. Smirking exactly like him, she stalked the halls and then, when she knew Peeves was watching (though pretending like she hadn't seen him), she set off two dungbombs and tossed them over the rail of one of the staircases so that it would reek up the whole school.

"MALFOY!" Peeves squealed excitedly as she turned to run. Looking as guilty as a deer caught in the headlights, she glanced at Peeves before bolting. Peeves immediately went off to tell Filch, eager to get "Malfoy" in trouble. Just as she heard Filch coming chasing up a hidden staircase after her, she drank down another vial of polyjuice potion.

Still looking hideously guilty, she faced Filch and glared at him. "Malfoy, you just threw two dungbombs down the stairs. Oh, my, what wonderful trouble you're going to be in. Yes, yes, we'll have to talk to Professor Snape about this one…"

If judging by the smirk on his face was anything, if Filch got his way, she'd be looking at two months of detention for Draco. But, of course, Draco was also Professor Snape's favorite, so she may be able to get off with only one or two. She haughtily followed Filch down to his office and waited for Professor Snape.

Professor Snape came and she denied everything, but, of course, Peeves had _seen _her do it, so her word was worth nearly nothing, especially after they found the third dungbomb in her pocket. She lied and just sat there and denied everything. Once Draco found out he was in detention for this, he would do the same thing, so she needed to make the situation so that he would match her current story as much as possible. He would come down here and say he didn't do it, and he didn't ever remember throwing a couple dungbombs down the stairs. So that was her story, and she said that Peeves must have mis-seen what she did.

Draco got let off with a full week of detention. Grinning to herself (though turning it into a self-absorbed smirk), she went back to where she'd stashed Draco. Looking around to make sure that the coast was clear, she unlocked the door to the room and slipped inside. For a moment, she just gazed at him as he slept, but then she remembered that she had things to do, and waited for the polyjuice potion to wear off before she put on her own robe and shrank his down again. She dragged him out into the hall again.

Kneeling beside him, she used the countercharm to awaken him and stuffed her wand away quickly. Contorting her face to look worried, she leaned over him, exclaiming, "Draco, are you okay?"

Gripping his head, he slurred, "What happened?"

"I don't know, I think you just fainted! Are you alright?" she asked worriedly.

"I think so." But then his gaze sharpened and he looked straight at her as if trying to decide something. "Granger, did you just call me Draco?"

Taken aback, she was about to deny it before she even thought about it. She had. Her eyes grew wide and she fell back onto her heels, looking scared. "I'm sorry," she said, not meeting his eyes, "I didn't mean to."

She should have denied it, could have. But she didn't, she just looked at him sadly as he walked away from her without another word.

But then she remembered that they both had detentions next week, and she smirked knowingly to herself. Ah, yes, that would be interesting. Very interesting.

* * *

_Well I've seen your boyfriend and I don't think he treats you right_

_But that's none of my business is it?  
_

—Fall Out Boy "Pretty In Punk"

* * *

**Buffdogg2**, Ginny doesn't _have _the Marauder's Map, she was just using it (sorry if that was unclear), and Hermione doesn't know she's been using it, nor, apparently, do Harry or Ron.

**Alianne** **and anyone else who may have noticed**, Thanks for noticing the lyrics at the end. I recently went Fall Out Boy crazy (I am now the proud owner of three of their CDs), and I noticed how well some of the lyrics seemed to fit with some of my chapters, so I just put them at the end to appease myself and maybe some readers who would understand. Yay!

**Many of you asked why Ginny is being such a bitch. **Well, the answer to this is both simple, and probably rather mean of me. I kinda distorted her character a bit (but we really didn't know much about her in the first place) to make some things happen to push Hermione/Draco further apart/closer together. She serves a twofold purpose as both a catalyst for their relationship and a deterrent for it. I tend to get really annoyed when everything goes perfect for them as a couple, because there would be a lot of obstacles for the two of them. They must_ overcome _Ginny and just about everyone and everything else! And that's part of the fun of it, because without Ginny there, Draco wouldn't be jealous of Ron and brooding about why he was jealous, and Hermione wouldn't be so sure that she wanted only Draco to be that close to her, still wondering if it would matter were it anyone else.

Unfortunately, as this chapter turned out differently than I planned, I can't give you guys all the details yet, but there's really not much more to say. So that's that, and that's why Ginny's a bitch. (Another reason is that she's easy to manipulate. She's close to Harry/Ron and Hermione, but we really don't know much about her still, so I can make her whoever I want her to be. And, really, it's not so much that she's a bitch so much as it is that she wants her brother to be happy and doesn't care how many people she hurts to achieve that goal. And she may be bored, but I don't think that's really much of a factor…)


	10. Chapter 9: Detention With Draco

A/N: Yes, **Justine**, I know it's on the person's left forearm. But, as I said (or meant to), Hermione needs to have it somewhere different because if Harry and Ron suspected what she was up to, it would be too easy for them to just pull up her sleeve. So I had it put somewhere different on her. **Sarklover826** I'll talk more about Ginny at the bottom again. Please read additional author's note at bottom.

This chapter was surprisingly easy to write. My main problem was just finding the time for it, as my mom is forcing me to clean my room. I've been cleaning all yesterday and today, and I'm _still _not done, I haven't even made it into my bathroom yet. I cleaned out my closet, my drawers, the top of my dresser, and organized my bookcases. Those all took the longest, as I always stuffed everything in there on my last room "cleanings". Not sure if I even dare to go under my bed, but I probably will...well, anyway, I managed to get away just long enough to finish off the last bit of this chapter and now I'm posting it. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 9: Detention With Draco

Draco slumped into detention looking furious. "You. I can't believe you. You are an unimaginable bitch, you know that?" Hermione looked up at him with her brown eyes and didn't move from where she hunched over the floor. They had been ordered to wash the floors of the Great Hall—no magic. Professor Wood would supervise them, as he was the only teacher available in the evenings this week. Hermione secretly wondered if he would rather be with Ginny every night than supervising them. She dipped her scrub brush in the soapy water and began to work on a portion of the floor.

Glaring tremendously, he snatched up his bucket and walked to the far corner of the hall to scrub there. Professor Wood opened his mouth to tell off Draco for his language, but Hermione shrugged and shook her head. Sighing, the teacher shut his mouth and went to sit down at a table and read.

Hermione and Draco scrubbed the floors silently for two hours. Draco was glad she did not try to talk to him. He knew she had gotten him into this, he just _knew _it. And she hadn't denied it either. Scrubbing even harder at the floor, he took out his seething anger at her on the cold stone. A whole week of detention, all because she'd pretended to be him and thrown some dungbombs down the stairs. _A good idea, _he reflected, _but I don't understand how she managed to get me into trouble for it._

As he muttered angrily to himself, the young professor stood, and announced that the two of them could go. Draco got up and left as quickly as he could, leaving the other two behind as fast as he could. Unwilling to speak to Hermione, or even let her catch up to him, he sprinted down the hall to the kitchens and threw himself into an empty room, sealing himself in. He waited a whole half hour before he was sure he could leave without possibly bumping into her.

He need not have worried. Hermione was so glum she didn't even try to track him down.

* * *

Hermione could have sobbed the moment Draco stepped into the room. She wanted to throw herself at his feet and grovel for forgiveness. But as soon as she looked up at him, she was pinned to the spot. She deserved this, and she knew it. She deserved his anger. So she meekly backed down and didn't say anything to him at all the whole night. Now was not the time to try to reach him. 

So she scrubbed the floors of the Hall without a word, and before long, Professor Wood told them they could go. Draco dashed out, and she felt a pang of guilt. She glanced up at the young professor, and then saw the hands on his watch. Eyes narrowed, she said, "you let us out a whole fifteen minutes early."

"I…er…have an appointment to be at in fifteen minutes, so I had to. It won't matter anyway," he said congenially. She looked at him hard, thinking of Ginny. "Well," he said, fairly trembling with suppressed guilt and a hidden secret, "I have to be off now. Have a nice night." He left far too quickly for comfort.

Alone, Hermione gathered up the buckets of soapy water and put them on top of one of the tables, not quite sure what to do with them. She was sure Filch or someone would take care of it. She slogged up the stairs miserably, knowing all the other students were in their common rooms by now. But then she saw a little black shadow, flitting from statue to statue.

Pretending to not have seen, Hermione walked on, but she knew who it was. She had seen that nervous darting before. Ginny. Gently peeking back in the hall she'd just left, she saw the small person go into an all-out dash for the end of the hall, knocking frantically at a door and peering around anxiously. The door opened, and she saw Professor Wood reach out, and drag the young girl into his room.

By now Hermione's curiosity was piqued, and she edged down the hall. So, she'd been right. His "appointment" was Ginny. She stopped and listened at the door. The young man was offering the redhead tea, but nothing else seemed to be going on. Slightly disappointed, she decided to just go to bed. It had been a trying day, as she had Ancient Runes on Mondays, and it had been a particularly difficult lesson.

Sighing, she fell into a dejected sleep.

* * *

OrlandoWood quickly pulled the young girl into his quarters, hoping no one had seen. She beamed up at him, and he frowned slightly as he offered her some tea. He'd grown to like her in their letters, maybe even as more than a friend. But more alarming than that fact was her age, and how she was exactly as he expected, and how he was beginning to like her even more now. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was in love with her, but that he cared for her more than he should, and certainly not in the way he should. 

It was worse that she seemed to feel the same way. She made careful advances toward him, and he could see them, and he knew they shouldn't be doing this, but it was happening whether or not his mind agreed. So he responded to her advances as inconspicuously as he could. As he handed her the cup of tea, his hand folded around the mug, her hand would curl around it as well so that her fingers gently lay across his.

And instead of breaking off the small tender gesture, he would let it be, and they would both hold the cup for a time. But then he would cough and blush and turn away, and she would look at him sadly with big blue eyes that understood.

He poured his own cup of tea, sighing as he handed her the sugar jar. He knew she liked it with a lot of sugar. If they had just been student and professor, it would have been easy to avoid this trap, but they weren't. They were friends, and pen pals, and something even deeper than lust spiked through their relationship. He settled himself on a cushion across the table from her.

Shaking his head, he decided he had to break it off, and now before this went even farther. "Gin, I think…"

"Oh, Orlando," she said, her eyes already glittering with tears. "Please don't. Don't do this. Nothing has to happen!"

"It already has," he gently corrected her, and scalded his mouth and throat with a nervous gulp of tea. He swiftly put the mug down so he wouldn't do that again. She burst into tears. Not quite sure what to do, he scooted around the table to sit next to her, patting her back gently. She twisted into his touch, and before either of them knew what was happening, she was crying in his arms.

He was surprised at how _right _it felt for her to be there. Tenderly, he wrapped his arms around her small body and held her close to him. Truly, they had to stop this. He could get fired for having a romance with a student, and she was still a minor. In another year, when she was seventeen, it would be alright, but not while she was still sixteen, and especially not when she had only _just _turned sixteen. Her birthday had been just last Thursday, and they had celebrated with a small cake for the two of them on that night. But he could not ignore how much faster his heart beat at her nearness to him.

"Gin," he breathed into her hair, and she sobbed even harder. She looked up at him with her eyes huge and wide, and oh so delicately _sad _as tears coursed down her cheeks_. No, sad doesn't do justice to it, _he thought. _Heartbroken does though._ His own look softened, and he felt ready to cry too, but knew he wouldn't.

"We can't do this, Gin," he said. "We just—" but he was cut off as she kissed him firmly. There were a million things in that kiss, and he could see the possibility of love in it. It frightened him and comforted him all at once. But the kiss was pure, and felt like ecstasy, and before he knew it, he was kissing her back just as passionately. His arms around her held her tighter, and she squirmed, twisting her arms around his neck.

Suddenly aware of what they were doing, he pulled back. She leaned her forehead against his as they breathed heavily. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. He squeezed her tighter.

"We will have to wait," he told her, drawing back and eyeing her. "We're going to have to wait for you to become seventeen before anything else happens."

Ginny smiled, snuggling closer to him. "I can wait," she whispered contentedly. He didn't know how long they sat like that, with his arms wrapped around the girl in his lap and her head on his shoulder, his resting against her brilliant hair, and it must have been an hour or more, because at length she yawned, breaking up their careful and relaxed silence. He chuckled and pulled her to her feet.

"Bedtime for all youngsters," he told her. She pulled a face but didn't object as he pulled her into a hug. Kissing his cheek, Gin pulled on her cloak and left silently as a wraith.

Orlando slumped into his chair. What on earth had he just done? He couldn't be in a relationship with a sixteen-year-old. But…well, he would always give her the option to leave, and if—no, more like when—she left him, he would just be happy for her and let her go. Although, he knew from experience that it was never as simple as that, and it would hurt more than anyone could ever understand until they experienced it.

Sighing, he retired to his bed, still thinking of Ginny. This was a bad idea—a very bad idea. But…well, it was too late now to change it. Grinning contentedly to himself, he flipped off his light and fell into a pleased sleep.

* * *

Hermione woke the next morning to the very familiar feeling of misery. Sighing, she pulled on her clothing and headed down to the common room, where Ron greeted her with a kiss. She wasn't sure she could evade his persistent attempts to get her to go off with him so they could snog much longer. 

He grasped her hand and pulled her gently down to the Great Hall, where he settled in and began to eat voraciously. She grimaced at how much food he was stuffing down his throat and ate only two pieces of toast herself. The owls all came swooping in, and one informed her that her second week of detention would be spent helping Professor McGonagall grade papers. She winced; her head of house probably wasn't too happy she'd landed herself three weeks of detention.

Hermione sighed and tucked the notice in her book bag and saw it was nearly time for History of Magic. She told Harry and Ron that they should leave, and the trio left together, the two boys talking happily about quidditch while Ron grasped her hand and she pulled him along.

Class was usual, with Harry and Ron not paying any attention, and Hermione fixated on their lesson, taking perfect notes that they would use later. She glowered to herself about how easy she was to freeload off of. All they had to do was tell her they would fail, and she would hand over her notes, with a lecture.

But then, she didn't want them to fail. In fact, she didn't even understand why they were still _in _History of Magic this year anyway. They could have quit, but they didn't. She shrugged off the thought and focused again on the ghost.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was fun again, as Professor Wood had a tame baby dragon brought in by Charlie. The dragon was a Common Welsh, and it was an adorable shade of green. The Oliver's brother beamed at the class's excitement over the dragon, and Charlie warned them all not to scare it as he brought it around for all of them to pet. The scales were smooth and cool under Hermione's fingers, and she grinned indulgently. Not many could boast having touched a dragon before.

Charlie sat on the edge of the young professor's desk and told the class about the laws and regulations of keeping a dragon. The person who had raised this one for the past six years was now serving twenty in Azkaban for illegal dragon ownership. They were working currently on teaching this one to fend for itself before setting it free back into the wild. But Charlie also told them about the magical properties of a dragon, and how to defeat it if you ever encountered one.

Class ended after many "oohs" and "ahs" and many "oh it's so cute!s". Hermione put on a disgusted face when Lavender and Parvati declared the last one, though secretly agreed.

"Good lesson, Charlie," the threesome congratulated him as the rest of the class filed out. "Thanks for having him come in," Ron told Professor Wood. Orlando smiled at them with satisfaction as they left, obviously pleased with himself.

Hermione heard him thanking Charlie as they went out and she grinned to herself. He really was a very nice person, and a great teacher.

Dinner was interesting. All the Gryffindor sixth years were still in awe of the dragon, and were telling all the younger students about it. The younger students looked on with a mixture of amazement and yearning.

Ron, clearly enjoying the attention, was now spinning a tale of how huge the dragon was, and how it had nearly burnt him with its enormous spout of fire, but he'd dodged it just in time. And then his brother would never have gotten it under control if Ron hadn't bravely jumped on its back and pinned it to the floor.

Of course, most of the sixth years just rolled their eyes at him and ignored it; however, the younger years were fascinated. They clung to each other during his tale of bravery. Hermione finally got fed up with it and shoved a cookie in his mouth when he opened it to add more to the tale. He coughed and spluttered, finally disengaging himself from the cookie, looking at her in disbelief.

"Oh, honestly," she said in annoyance, "quit talking about that. You'll just make your ego bigger than it already is." Ron blushed and picked at his food. She felt a little guilty for snapping at him, and even guiltier because she was grateful for the reprieve from his imagined tale.

Wanting some time alone, she excused herself to go to the library, where she tucked herself away with a book in a secluded corner. She sighed as it came time for her to go to spend her detention. She hadn't given any thought on how to convince Draco to listen to her yet. Resigning herself to another evening of uncomfortable silence, she put her book away and headed back to the Great Hall.

Ron was waiting for her outside the doors. "Hermione," he said fervently. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to annoy you! I've been looking for you everywhere to apologize, but I couldn't find you."

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "I was in the library the whole time."

Ron looked confused, "But I checked in there. Madam Pince said she hadn't seen you all evening." Hermione just shrugged, and the redhead scooped her up in his arms, giving her a bone-crushing hug. Hardly able to breathe, she just sat through it. Before long, she was set down again, and he kissed her passionately.

She stood there and let him kiss her several more times before she pushed him off her, "I have a detention to serve," she reminded him. Blushing, he said goodbye and kissed her again.

"Oh, get a room," Draco growled as he stalked past them. Hermione wondered how much he had seen as she followed him into the Great Hall, waving goodbye to Ron.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between Draco and Hermione. She was sure even Professor Wood could feel the tension, as he fidgeted anxiously. After about forty-five minutes, the young man excused himself to go to the bathroom, or some other incoherently muttered reason, saying he'd be back in fifteen minutes.

The second he was gone, Draco dumped his brush into the bucket of soapy water and walked over to Hermione, standing over her as she continued to scrub the floor. "Well?" he snarled.

"Yes?" she looked up at him meekly, and met his eyes only to cast hers down in submission.

"Explain yourself before I beat the hell out of you," he growled. Hermione sighed and put her scrub brush aside, standing up. She was grateful for the wall at her back, it provided some sense of security from Draco's looming form.

Unexpectedly, she felt tears form in her eyes. Blinking them away, she stared at the floor as she stumbled over the words, "I—I wanted to talk to you, but—but you wouldn't listen to me," she wailed. "And then I couldn't explain anything to you and you were mad at me, and I don't even understand, though I hate myself too, and…." She stopped to blink away the tears that had returned.

"You don't understand why I hate you?" he asked her coldly. Hermione quailed at his tone, and wouldn't look up at him. He placed a finger under her chin and pulled her up head up to look at him. "I hate you," he pronounced every word so carefully that it was like he was cutting up her heart, but with the blade of his voice razor-sharp so that he merely shaved away the sides so that it was more painful than if he'd just ripped out her heart and stomped on it. "I hate you," he repeated in the same tone, and his eyes were icy, "because you are a filthy know-it-all Mudblood who thinks she knows everything when she doesn't. I hate you because you thought that I liked you even for a second. I hate you because you got me into a week's worth of detention I don't deserve. I hate you for being the Dark Lady. I hate you for being you, Hermione."

And if she had just been listening to him talk, she would have believed every single word he'd just said without a doubt. But he had made a mistake by making her look up at him, and she could see the emotions playing behind his eyes. And if she hadn't been looking up at him, she probably wouldn't have noticed the way his eyes lit up behind their frosty mask as he said her name, nor would she have noticed he even called her by her first name rather than her surname.

As Draco turned away, she impulsively said, "Wait." He stopped stock still, and she found she had nothing to say to him. The door opened just then, and Professor Wood walked in. She dropped to her knees in despair and began to continue washing the floors. She did not look up again, and lagged behind until she was sure Draco and Professor Wood had both left. Only then did she lean against the back of the door and let her anguish and desolation overcome her carefully set barriers, and Hermione sobbed until she had no more tears before going up to bed.

* * *

Draco didn't know what to do. He was going crazy seeing her with Weasley every second. And she looked happy enough. Hermione didn't need him, and she never had. He gnashed his teeth fiercely to himself as he walked into the common room. Catching sight of his mood, Pansy (who had waited up for him) bolted upright into a standing position, ready to run if he ordered her to. All the other students in the room ran for cover except for Blaise and two seventh years, who completely ignored anyone younger than they. 

Needing some release, Draco marched up to Pansy and kissed her angrily. She was surprised, but let him take out his emotions on her lips and within her mouth. He stepped back and she looked up at him calmly. Suddenly furious, he drew back his hand and smacked her straight across the face. It left a big red mark, and she flinched away from him. "I hate you," he sneered at her. She looked up at him with tears of pain in her eyes and somehow managed to look dignified as she nodded at him acceptingly.

Suddenly angry because she didn't react, he made ready to slap her again. Blaise stepped in the way of his hand, taking a glancing blow at his chin. The boy didn't need to say anything, only raising his eyebrows at Draco. Snarling something inarticulate,the blondestalked off to his room, scowling, and tried to sleep.

But sleep would not come, and he lay awake thinking about Hermione. He had loved looking down into those brown eyes as he said every mean thing he'd been working up the courage to say. He'd loved seeing them fill with tears when she thought he hadn't been looking. He hated that he couldn't brush them away as was his impulse. He hated that he had hurt her. But now it was all over. They hated each other, and he was her servant, and that was the way it was meant to be.

_Then why do I feel so empty inside? _He wondered. His heart ached with pain, and he just felt…devoid of feelings except for the lonely ache in his chest. _I'll kill Weasley if he doesn't comfort her. No, I'll kill him if he does. I don't want him touching her. _Realizing how selfish and contradictory he was being, he stared sullenly at his dark curtains. _But if she doesn't want me, then there's nothing I can do. _Sighing, and suddenly hurting more than before, he closed his eyes and brutally forced himself into a nightmare-filled sleep.

* * *

Hermione felt empty the next day. She let herself sleep in until she had Arithmancy, skipping both breakfast and her free period in an effort to make herself feel better. It didn't work. Groaning as she dragged herself from bed, she dressed and brushed her teeth before going straight to Arithmancy. 

Immersing herself in her studies was always easy for Hermione, and it was an easy release from the hell of the real world. She ate a large lunch, having skipped breakfast, and in Defense Against the Dark Arts afterwards paid extra-close attention to what Professor Wood was saying.

She ate dinner like a robot, and barely noticed when Ron pulled her aside after dinner, still thinking of assignments she could finish to take her mind off things. This happened to not be a good thing, because she ended up finding herself in a deserted classroom with Ron pushing himself upon her. Resigning herself to it, she allowed him, though let her mind wander from the slobbery affair to school assignments not due for weeks, tests that wouldn't happen for another month.

Finally Hermione managed to pull Ron off of her, declaring she would be late for detention. With a satisfied and loving expression on his face, he gave her a departing kiss and sent her on her way.

She felt on the verge of a mental break down, and when she got into the Great Hall, she put all her heart into scrubbing the stone floor, even though no one else was there yet. Professor Wood and Draco arrived not long after, and settled in, Draco at the far end, the young teacher stretched out on a table to read.

Hermione hardly noticed when she began to scrub her tears into the floor. Suddenly a hand was on her shoulder, and someone was asking if she was okay. "No," she grumbled, not looking up or even faltering in her scrubbing. Another three tears fell onto the stone, and she vehemently scrubbed them into it.

"Miss Granger," Professor Wood said quietly, pulling up on her shoulder.

"Go away," she growled, stopping her scrubbing to glare at him. He backed off a bit, unsure of what to do and looked over at Draco. Draco looked over at the two of them expressionlessly, and then saw a tear slide down her cheek. He sneered at her, and stood, walking over to where she knelt on the floor.

"All right, come on," he said, yanking on her arm. Though rough, his method was operational, as she jerked up onto her knees.

"Don't touch me, _Malfoy_, that's an order." Wood looked on in confusion.

"My liege," the boy bowed, "That is an order I will not grant." Before she could react, he had scooped her up in his arms. She twisted until he growled, "Okay, Hermione, I'll just drop you on the stones right here." Glowering at him, Hermione kicked her feet, declaring that she could walk.

Draco roughly grabbed her arm, looking over his shoulder to the bewildered professor. "This shouldn't take long, we'll be back in a bit."

Hermione was dragged into the dungeons and thrust into a small, empty and poorly lit prison cell. "What the hell are you on about?" Draco growled. "Sad because I hate you? Oh, that's so sweet," he mocked.

She looked at him helplessly, "Don't, please."

"Don't what?" he snapped. A malicious gleam entered his eyes and he opened his mouth to say more.

Hermione began a hideous keening as he continued to talk. She didn't want to hear it, couldn't bear to hear it, couldn't handle his hatered. She swiped the remains of tears from her eyes and slammed herself up against the wall, needing more support than her legs were currently giving her.

A sharp, brilliant pain splintered her focus on her wail. Blinking, she looked at Draco, who was poised to slap her again if she persisted. "Fine, you wanted me to listen, I'll listen. Just don't do—that—again. And don't cry," he added.

Hermione looked up into his eyes, those beautiful pale gray eyes, and saw something that tickled her curiosity. She stepped forward, wondering, anddidn't noticed how close Draco was to her. She cocked her head to one side, trying to figure it out…

* * *

Draco wondered if Hermione was crazy as a grin suddenly split her whole face, and she staggered back against the wall, giggling. Her fitful giggles shattered into laughter. "You were jealous of him," she told Draco. He stiffened, and his fingers curled into fists that she probably didn't see. "You thought I actually fancied Ron. Ginny blackmailed me into it. I can't believe you thought I fancied him." She paused, and he looked on in horror as she told him everything he hadn't wanted to hear and had been battling against in the past few days. Her voice took on quite a different tone now, a wondering one, as she said, "You're so silly," before launching herself off the wall at him. Draco was taken off guard, but didn't need much time to gather himself as she kissed him just as fiercely as he had kissed Parkinson the other night. 

His back hit the wall as he kissed her back just as passionately, holding her so close it was almost as if he was trying to make them into one body. Her arms were around his neck, and when she pulled back, breathless, he squeezed her closer to him. He breathed in her hair, surprised that a kiss could be so passionate, and make someone feel as satisfied as he did now. He'd never felt like this after a kiss before. Draco hadn't been prepared for this to ever happen, much less tonight, right after he'd seen her go off to snog with Weasley.

"Weasley," he breathed. Hermione looked up sharply. "I mean, your boyfriend. What are you going to do about him?"

"Um…I can't really do anything," she told him in dismay. "I don't have any dirt on Ginny yet, but I've got a lead…she's blackmailing me with you. I mean, she's using you as blackmail for me," she rambled slightly.

"You mean…oh. Oh," he said as everything made sense. He hated himself for having been so stupid. "Um…we have detention," he said, not knowing what else to say. Hermione looked surprised and dismayed as she remembered. They disentangled themselves, and walked back into the Great Hall.

Needless to say, Professor Wood was thoroughly confounded, and looked outraged at the red hand mark across Hermione's face. But she turned and shrugged at him just as he opened his mouth to say something. He turned to Draco accusingly, and Draco hid his smirk, shrugging as well. Completely befuddled, Wood sat down on the table again and watched the two of them the rest of the night, though neither said anything about what had happened, and when he said they could go, each departed soundlessly and went their separate ways to their common rooms.

* * *

_So say, what are you waiting for?  
Kiss her, kiss her_

—Fall Out Boy "A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me""

* * *

**Second author's note**: Okay, rereading this chapter, I noticed that everyone is kissing everyone else "firmly" or "fiercely" or some other synonym of those words. This will not continue in the other chapters, and I didn't mean for it to happen in this one, but it...did... So, yeah, I'm sorry if that bothered you, and it won't continue! Thanks all for reading! 

**MysticalSpirits** asked why Ginny's mind couldn't just be erased. I decided not to put even the idea of this in the story, because it wouldn't do anything. Ginny knew (or suspected) about Hermione/Draco doing things together long before she actually caught them at it (although they don't know that), so if her current memory was erased, she would still have her suspicions and still be able to catch them together some other time. So I decided to cut out even the thoughts of that altogether. Furthermore, if they used a really strong memory charm to erase her memory, since they don't know when she began to suspect, it would have to be really strong, and there would be the possibility of addling her brains forever (like Lockhart's).

**Sarklover826**, you asked what Ginny has against Hermione and if she hates her. Ginny doesn't have anything against Hermione, and she doesn't hate her (in my story at least) it's just that Hermione is the person her brother fancies at the moment, and Ginny wants him to be happy. It's just the luck of the draw that it's Hermione. If Ron had a long-time crush on anyone else, and Ginny had blackmail material against them, she would use it thusly, it just that Ron happens to have an unreturned fancy for Hermione (well, it's unreturned in my story).


	11. Chapter 10: An Ignored Glance

A/N: YAY for reviewers! I give you all my humblest thanks. I would've waited to begin writing this chapter until my room is done being cleaned (looks like a 5-day project ahead of me), but since you all are begging for more, I started Sunday night, and continued all Monday (my mom thinks I was cleaning the whole day). And after three days, my room is clean, and now I need to work on my bathroom, which'll probably end up being the other two days of the predicted five.

I just made a timeline for the story, and a lot has happened in very little time. The day they kissed ("yesterday" in the beginning of this chapter) was only October 22. And I forgot about Halloween. I fixed that in this chapter. Currently working on getting Harry/Ron's schedules figured out (I did Hermione's), because I kinda need them.

CHAPTER 10: An Ignored Glance

The day after, a summons arrived from Lord Voldemort. He wished to have a Death Eater meeting Friday (tomorrow) night. Hermione sighed at the letter. _How on earth could I have forgotten about him?_ She wondered bleakly. She hoped he didn't mind the fact that she and Draco were…well, were they together? They couldn't really be, not with Ron in the middle. Hermione would have to do some snooping on Ginny to get him out of the picture.

She sighed. _It's not that I don't _like _Ron, _she thought as she packed her books into her bag, _it's just that I don't _fancy _him. And going off and snogging with him feels…weird. _She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she headed down to breakfast, allowing Ron to kiss her cheek. She smiled at him and took his hand under the table as they ate. She knew she didn't have to, but though she'd woken up in a bad mood, now she was feeling elated as she thought of last night.

She grinned as she chewed her toast, _he likes me too, _she thought, and a slow, sappy smile leaked onto her face.

Throughout the day, everyone noticed her brightened spirits, and many girls giggled to each other about how she had probably just been properly snogged for the first time yesterday. Which she had, but not by Ron. No, kissing Ron wasn't really a kiss. A kiss was when both people cared for each other. Her true first kiss had been last night with Draco, and all those times with Ron didn't count, because she didn't feel anything for him. Unlike Draco.

A goofy smile upturned her lips whenever she thought of him. Even during Potions, Professor Snape could not dampen her spirits, though he sneered forcefully at her perfect potion and took off ten points from Gryffindor because of the far-off look in her eyes. She longed to glance at Draco, just to see his beauty, just to see the way he worked diligently on this potion. She imagined a rogue hair falling across his eyes, and though it was just an imagined likeness, she longed to brush it back.

But she didn't dare look his way. So she suffered in silence, daydreaming as she gently stirred her potion, counting the stirs so she would get it right.

During dinner she grinned happily and hugged Ron without much reluctance when Ginny looked her way. She just pretended Ron was Draco, and it was so much easier. She just had to ignore all the obvious differences between the two: height, hair color, eye color (almost the same, but not quite, Ron's were more blue), personality. Of course, that was nearly everything, but Hermione was too cheerful to care how different they were.

She went almost happily as Ron led her off that night to snog her. In fact, she didn't even notice they were off alone together until Ron began to kiss her. Per usual, she just sat there and let him kiss her, daydreaming of Draco. She nearly couldn't breathe, his arms were around her so tight that there was hardly any room for breath.

Ron's hands began to inch up her shirt. Lost in thoughts of the person she wished was snogging her, Hermione nearly didn't notice. But the higher his hands went on her stomach, the more conscious of it she became. She pushed his hands down forcefully, drawing back. She looked him in the eye and then caught sight of a clock over his shoulder. "I'm gonna be late for detention," she squeaked, grabbing her bag and running up to Gryffindor tower to put it away. She'd planned on doing homework tonight in the library, but that didn't look like it would be possible.

Hermione hurtled through the doors to the Great Hall nearly ten minutes late. "I'm sorry, Professor, I was…busy," she said breathlessly. Professor Wood raised his eyebrows and indicated she should begin.

"Probably off snogging that weasel of hers," Draco said vehemently from the nearer end of the hall (though starting out at opposite ends, each of them came a little closer to the middle of the room to clean each night, and by now there was only about a quarter of the hall separating them).

Hermione turned red at his comment, and said loftily, "So what if I was?" It killed her to see the jealousy in Draco's eyes as he turned to face her.

"Well, obviously it matters that you were, since you were ten minutes late," he snarled. Despairingly, she wondered why he was being so mean. _Oh, no, _she thought suddenly. _He's not going to pretend like last never happened, will he?_

Hermione didn't respond, just gave him a pitiful glance and dropped to her hands and knees to work. After three days of this, her muscles were sore and aching, and her knees sharply protested against the ground. Focusing intently on her scrubbing, she managed to forget how much of a mess her life was.

It seemed like the vacation from her life ended too soon, as Professor Wood stood and stretched, declaring they could call it a night. Predictably, Draco bolted immediately, the professor right after him. Sighing, Hermione stood, feeling all her aches. Wearily, she put her bucket of soapy water up on the nearest table, stepping up onto it and walking over it to retrieve Draco's bucket too. She placed it on the table just as a laugh broke out behind her.

Hermione jumped and turned, then her alarmed look dissipated to look relieved. Before she could speak, the boy behind her spoke first. "How typical of you to pick everything up and put it away before you leave."

Hermione was unsure of what to say, so stood silently as he approached her. _What on earth is he—_her thought stopped unfinished as Draco kissed her softly. Her body responded immediately, and her aches were forgotten as they snogged each other. Draco's hand slid up her shirt slightly, but stayed on her hip as he pulled her closer.

She pulled back and rested her forehead against the bridge of his nose. Both of them were breathing hard, and his hands stayed where they were on the exposed skin of her hips. "I'm sorry about earlier," he whispered to her. She nodded slightly. "We need to keep up appearances though. It wouldn't do to suddenly be chummy with one another, we need to at least pretend like enemies still." His arms clutched her closer to him, and her arms curled tighter about his neck. "I hope you don't mind?" he said gently, as he tilted his head to kiss her neck tenderly. The kiss sent shivers down her spine.

"No," she said. He paused in his kissing and pulled back to look at her questioningly. He looked like a puppy that had just been denied a treat for doing something good. Hermione chucked, "I meant no to your question, idiot." Looking pleased, he kissed her on the forehead.

"Bedtime," he said, dropping his hands from her hips. Hermione was stunned by the suddenness of it and must have looked confused as she slid her arms off his neck. "What?" he asked.

"It's just…that was sudden, is all," she said, searching for a good reason for him not to leave her to go up to Gryffindor tower.

Draco shrugged, "Well, it's nearly ten already, and we do have classes tomorrow…"

Hermione nearly laughed, "You go to bed at ten?" That was earlier than when she normally went to bed.

The blonde looked vaguely injured, "Yeah, so?" Hermione just shook her head, smiling, then impulsively went up on tiptoe to kiss him. "Bedtime?" he asked, and the look on his face made him look like a little kid eagerly awaiting sweets. Laughing, Hermione nodded and as they turned to go, Draco gently slid her hand in his. Her heart seemed to melt. The grip was tender, and light-but-firm. It was the I'll-protect-you hold of a lover.

The walk to the doors was far too short. With a sad gleam in his eyes, he kissed her goodbye and pushed her through them. She understood, and didn't glance back at him even though her eyes mirrored his pain. If anyone was in the hall, they could not afford to be seen together.

As it was only half-past ten, or near that, Hermione ghosted over to Professor Wood's office. She heard the rumble of speech from the teacher, and laughter from Ginny. Though she listened for a full five minutes, there was no sign of anything between them but friendship. She sighed and went into Gryffindor to finish up the Potions essay due next week.

When Ginny came in at a quarter 'till eleven, Hermione didn't even look up. Ginny had to think she was safe in her nightly rendezvous, and if she knew Hermione had seen her come in late, she may be more careful from then on. Of course, the older girl wasn't even sure that the redhead was doing anything with the professor, but there was always the chance…

Hermione finished the essay and packed up her things, going up to bed herself. As she settled in, she remembered what Draco had looked like as he slept, her perfect cherubic boy. Her lips forged a smile as she remembered the contented look on his face. She fell asleep to the image of Draco in her mind, and slept well for the first time in a long while.

* * *

It was nearly eleven before Ginny snuck into the common room again. She froze up upon seeing someone else in the room, and nearly panicked to see it was Hermione. But the brunette was immersed in an essay and didn't even notice. Ginny scurried up to her dormitory without been seen.

She grinned as she got into her PJs. Orlando was such a sweetie. The only thing that frustrated her was his refusal to kiss her. Pretty much the only thing he allowed was him holding her in his arms. She was fine with that, most of the time, but after that first night, he wouldn't even let her kiss him goodnight, and that made her kind of sad.

But he was so noble, and good, and kind. She smiled to herself as she pulled the covers up to her chin. Oh, yes, she could wait a year for him. She refused to lose him; he was too good a person to lose. Her faithfulness to him was unwavering, she only wondered about his. He was older, he could probably find someone his own age that was prettier than her, and smarter, and…better fitted to him.

But he seemed all right with her age and everything. He was just too noble to touch her now and would rather wait. _Well, _she thought as she closed her eyes to sleep, _that's okay. I can deal with it, so long as he holds me and is mine. If I lose that, _her eyebrows tilted in sadness, _if I lose that, I'm not sure what I'd do. Everything's right when I'm in his arms. I don't know if I can lose that. _And so with questionable thoughts, she fell into the deep well of sleep

* * *

Hermione woke up feeling just as happy as she had yesterday, though with an underlying sense of guilt. It wasn't just that she had feelings for someone other than her boyfriend; she was actually _cheating _on him. But, of course, she hadn't liked Ron in the first place. This thought eased most of her guilt, and she went down the stairs to breakfast. Harry was already there, but Ron was suspiciously absent.

"Where's Ron?" she asked as she plunked herself across the table from Harry. He paused, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. It looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"Finishing up that Transfiguration essay that's due in twenty minutes," Harry responded. Hermione rolled her eyes as she grabbed a piece of toast and ate it. Hermione asked Harry how quidditch was going, and they got a pretty good conversation going before they had to leave.

Chatting animatedly to each other, they walked to Transfiguration where Professor McGonagall waited for the students. They sat down together and saved a seat for Ron, who arrived five minutes late. He wheezed some unintelligible excuse and ended up with two days of detention. As he sat down next to Hermione, she hissed, "You told me you did that essay yesterday."

Ron's glance flickered to Harry, as he muttered an apology. Not understanding the glance, Hermione brushed it off and listened to what Professor McGonagall was saying, allowing Ron to take up her hand under the table.

Hermione was glad that her last class of the day was Ancient Runes and then she had a free period. Ancient Runes was one of the harder classes, and so it was nice to have the knowledge fresh in her mind as she began to do her homework immediately after. Humming to herself, she packed up slowly, thinking over their lesson and was, predictably, the last person out of the room.

She hugged the wall as she turned into a corridor packed with students trying to get to their next class. Suddenly a door slightly behind her opened. She jumped at the noise and before she could turn to look was yanked backwards. A hand covered her mouth and a familiar voice muttered a warning in her ear. She relaxed in the darkness of the closet (room?), and the hand that was over her mouth fell down to her waist. She smiled and the mouth that kissed her neck gave her shivers.

Turning in the warm grip, Hermione chastely kissed Draco back in the darkness. "So," she said casually, "Where exactly are we?"

"In a closet," Draco said in tones that matched hers. "I wanted to give you something." One of his hands disappeared from her waist and she heard some clinking along with a muttered expletive from Draco. Suddenly a light went on, and she suppressed a laugh at their surroundings. The closet had boxes stacked up, and several muggle-like cleaning utensils (though probably rigged with spells to clean by themselves).

Draco reached into his robe and pulled out a black rose, which he handed to her. It was the epitome of perfection, it's petals rounded and black, with a dark green stem and a couple of leaves arching off it. She inhaled sharply at the delicate beauty of it. Hesitantly, she reached out to stroke a petal. "I've put a preservation charm on it," Draco told her huskily. "It's pretty much indestructible now."

"Where did you…?" she asked, captivated by the dark rose she now held.

For a minute, Draco didn't say anything, and when she looked up at him, he looked obliquely guilty. "Ah…that night at my Manor," he said, "When I left you standing on that ledge as I went around, I stopped by the garden and cut it. I grow them in mum's garden." Hermione nodded, not caring that he'd left her out on a ledge an extra minute to get this.

"Merlin, Draco," she said, holding the rose close. "I don't know what to say. 'Thank you' seems inadequate for such a gift." She looked up to see his gray eyes studying her.

In that moment, her heart swelled for him, and her love was so much that it hurt. But the feeling subsided, and in the small space of the closet, she stepped closer to him, and as his arms wrapped around her, she turned in his grip so that her back was to his stomach and chest. She turned her head and tucked it under his chin. They stood like that for some time, until Draco coughed from the musty air in the closet. Hermione turned to face him, and he looked both guilty and apologetic for ruining the moment. She smiled at him and kissed him before disentangling herself from his grip.

"Draco, I need…" a look of confusion crossed her face as she realized there wasn't really anywhere she needed to go at the moment. She shifted, knowing there was something she was forgetting, and her movement stirred up the dust around them. She coughed as it tickled her throat, and suddenly she remembered. "Are you doing anything tonight?" she asked.

"No, why?" Draco said curiously.

"Oh…" she muttered. _Why didn't Voldemort tell him to come to the thing tonight. _She began to say "No reason" when she decided she would take Draco with her anyway. Father needed to know about them, and besides, she wanted the company on the way to Hogsmeade and back.

"Draco, will you come with me tonight? Father's having a meeting, and I don't want to go alone," she said.

Draco looked uneasy. "I don't think I was invited," he said slowly.

"I'm inviting you, then," Hermione snapped. He looked startled at her temper, but she didn't offer an apology and he shrugged it off.

"I guess…" he said, still sounding unsure. "But," he cautioned, "If the Dark Lord doesn't want me to be involved in the meeting, then I'll wait somewhere else for you." He looked into her eyes, obviously seeking approval. Hermione frowned, but decided she'd take what she could get and told him that was okay.

"And can we get out of here? The dust is starting to bother me," she added.

Draco laughed. "I didn't expect us to be in here this long, so yeah." They both turned to frown at the door. One of them would have to leave the other behind. Hermione bit her lip, while Draco merely looked indecisive.

"Room of Requirement in ten minutes?" she asked. Grinning to her, Draco nodded. Hermione walked out into the deserted corridor, then beckoned Draco to come too. They split off into different directions, and in just five minutes was already there. She paced outside of the door, wishing for somewhere with books and comfortable chairs.

A door opened up, and she walked into what appeared to be a perfect haven for someone like her: books lined the walls, and there were several large poufs and a couch and a large armchair around a coffee table. Grinning, Hermione went to one of the walls and picked out a book, settling in on the armchair to read until Draco came.

Not too long after starting reading, a voice behind her laughingly said, "Already curled up with a book. Ah, I fear I have lost my fair maiden to the wiles and charms of a book." Hermione snorted and mock-glared at Draco as he came around the armchair. Marking her page in the book, she got up to put it down on the table, placing her rose on top of it. When she turned back around, Draco was seated cross-legged in her outsized armchair.

Faking annoyance at him, she wagged her finger admonishingly. But he merely indicated that his lap was perfectly empty, and she shrugged and settled into his lap, with her legs dangling over the arm of the chair. She snuggled into his shoulder and his arms went around her. "Very typical of you, to pick some place lined with books," he told her.

"Of course," she said. "Would you expect anything different from me?"

"No," he said, squeezing her gently.

"Would you want it any other way?" she asked quietly.

"No," he said. "I like you. That means _all _of you," he said, poking her forehead. She grinned and snuggled closer to him.

Suddenly a thought hit her, and she jerked back from him looking at him suspiciously. "You're skipping class," Hermione said. "Harry and Ron complain about you being in their potions class on Fridays."

Looking incredibly guilty, Draco nodded. Hermione's eyes widened, but before she could say something else, Draco cut in. "Hermione, I needed to see you. I've been carrying around that rose all day for you. I just…I needed to hold you, to be sure that you were really here and I wasn't just dreaming." She gaped, and he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Oh, Draco," she said, her anger evaporated with his last sentence. She pulled his head to her and kissed him hard, and was surprised when he kissed her back just as fiercely. "I most certainly am here," she whispered, pulling away for a second. Just before he drew her back to him, and snogged her thoroughly, she added, "And I'm all yours."

They both ignored the fact that she wasn't all his, because she was still, technically, Ron's. But each hoped fervently that she wouldn't be before too long.

* * *

Grinning incessantly, Hermione went down to dinner. She gave Ron a nice solid kiss (he seemed rather surprised, but then turned a pleased shade of red) before sitting down and serving herself up some dinner. Dumbledore stood to make an announcement, looking delighted with himself. "Ah, students. I am aware that the holidays are coming up—Halloween is just a week away—and I would like to cordially invite you all to stay during the winter break so that you may all attend our very first Christmas Ball!"

Immediately, girls' squeals and boys' grumbles burst out like an infection in the hall. But Hermione did not squeal or mutter, astonished by his words. Dumbledore was, essentially, bribing them to stay at Hogwarts where he could keep a watchful eye on them and hopefully protect them from Lord Voldemort if he chose to attack.

"However," Professor Dumbledore continued, and the voices all hushed, "I am sorry to say, you must be staying here over the holiday to attend. You may not go home and come back and go home and come back. You must stay the whole holiday to attend. Thank you for your attention, you may all eat now."

As soon as he sat down again, girls turned to mutinously muttering boys and ordered them to stay so that they could go to the dance. Hermione saw a lot of puppy-dog eyes turned to boys and snickered behind her hand. Other girls were resorting to violence (she saw Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode both brandish their fists at Blaise until he acceded).

Smirking, she said nothing, and continued to eat. Ginny stared at her forcefully until she mumbled something to Ron about him having to stay. Grinning like Christmas had come early, he nodded. She took another bite of her food before looking up and meeting a pair of pale gray eyes across the room. Smirking, Draco inclined his head ever so slightly, and she smiled as she continued to eat. Oh, yes, she had asked Ron to stay, but it was the person who had needed no words that would take her to the dance.

Dinner was an excited affair after the announcement, for even though the ball was two months away, it was easy to forget how long two months could be. Girls chattered excitedly about what to wear, boys grumbled to each other, and everyone gossiped about who would be talking whom to the dance.

Ron pulled Hermione aside again. This was fast becoming a nightly thing, and though this was only the third day, Hermione was already tiring of it. But she suffered through it, allowing him to snog her, and needing to push his hands out of her shirt once again. The latter he took as good fun, laughing genially and keeping them outside of her shirt (though that didn't quite stop them from heading up).

Finally, and at long last, she was allowed to go to detention. She ran up to Gryffindor tower first though, and put her too-long black cloak into her book bag, which she carried down to detention with her. Catching Ron on his way up, she told him that he didn't have to wait up for her tonight, because she would probably take a bath before going up to bed. He nodded and winked at her before letting her finish running to detention.

She slipped in exactly on time and closed the doors behind her. Placing her book bag on the table, she grabbed her bucket of soapy water and moved to where she'd left off cleaning. Professor Wood settled cross-legged on the table with a stack of papers and began to grade.

During the last fifteen minutes, nearly the whole hall was clean, and Draco and Hermione were doing the last strip down the middle of it shoulder-to-shoulder. Professor Wood waited impatiently for them to finish up, and then bolted right away. Draco walked over and bolted the huge doors as Hermione put the buckets of water back onto the table.

She sat on the edge of the table, and Draco prowled over to her, a wolfish smile on his mouth and a roguish gleam in his eye. She grinned at him as he came to stand in front of her and capture her mouth with his. Hermione scooted toward him as far as she could, until she was nearly falling off the table, and she wrapped her legs around his.

Breathing heavily, she pulled back and leaned her forehead against his. He moved around to nip playfully at her ear before breathing on her neck and kissing it. Shivering in his grasp, she let go. She just let go of all her worries, her hopes, her mistakes, her regrets, her accomplishments. She let go of everything but the shivers he gave her and the comfort of his presence. "Oh, Draco," she murmured as he began to suck on her neck. He moved to another spot so that he wouldn't leave a mark as she continued, "We need to leave." He kissed her ear in passing then stepped back and checked her neck to be sure he hadn't left any marks. Smirking in a very self-satisfied way, he gave her a tender and sweet last kiss before grabbing her bag.

"Let's go," he said, as he handed her the bag. She put on her cloak, as did he (he'd shrunk it and put it into his pocket), and they left the Great Hall, two shadows in the dark night. She stashed her bag in a broom closet off the hall and then they were gone, spiriting across the school grounds. They kept up a steady stream of conversation, and before long, Hermione wasn't surprised to find her hand lovingly nestled in his.

Hermione and Draco flittered through the shadows of Hogsmeade like wraiths, reaching the Shrieking Shack just as midnight hit. Someone Apparated with a crack in front of them and, upon seeing two of them, hesitated. "The Dark Lord said that only the Lady would be coming," a male voice said uncertainly.

"He is my guest. Let him come," Hermione told him.

"But the Dark Lord _said,_" the man began.

"I overrule," Hermione snapped. "I can take it up with him when we arrive. Don't worry, you won't be in trouble unless you disobey me." Tentatively, he held out a roll of parchment. Hermione and Draco both took it, and their eyes met just before they felt the familiar tug behind their navels.

A room put itself together before their eyes, and Draco was looking around curiously. So it wasn't Malfoy Manor this time. Hermione took his hand protectively and they followed the other person down the hall. As she walked in, all eyes turned to her, and Voldemort stood up from his throne. "A guest, Chicklet," he asked softly, and in his voice was danger, she could tell.

"A trustworthy member of our ranks, father. No need to be alarmed," she replied, respectfully inclining her head.

"Ah, but darling, I didn't ask you to bring anyone," Voldemort said sweetly.

"No, but I brought him, and he's here now." Voldemort said nothing, but she could practically feel his eyes narrow. She took Draco's left arm and pulled up his sleeve to prove that he really was of their ranks. "May we start with this meeting?" she said impudently.

The Dark Lord sat down, and Hermione parked herself in her throne. No one bothered to conjure up another seat for Draco, so he just stood behind and to the right of her chair. "Okay, well. As most of you have noticed, we haven't been doing very many raids these past few months. But this is because I've been making my own plans, and they are bigger than a few paltry raids," he said.

"I have been thinking of hitting a major muggle area. Like London, perhaps. With such numbers as we have, we can kill off a good many of the muggles in town there, and with our superiority, we shall easily overcome."

Hermione frowned in the depths of her hood. He had told her that they killed only bad people. Well, she would bring it up with him later. "We haven't had much fun lately, I know, but if all of you are just patient, I promise, you'll get your fun."

"But…er…sorry for interrupting, father, but wouldn't it be better to take the muggles as slaves rather than kill them?" she asked timidly, not wanting to see all those muggles dead. If they were only taken as slaves, they had _some _chance of gaining freedom. All the heads in the room turned to stare at her in shock, and she was glad they couldn't see her blush under her hood.

"What a…brilliant idea," Voldemort murmured. "Then we can use them for sport and _own _them. All in favor of the idea?" Nearly every hand went up. "That's settled then. We shall just capture the London muggles." A murmur of appreciation for Hermione went up, and she smirked. Talk about the raid continued for over an hour, and Hermione was bored nearly to tears. She and "the Malfoy boy" were expressly forbidden to come, though Voldemort didn't seem to realize that Draco was the person standing behind her.

"So…we are all agreed?" Voldemort asked, as if the Death Eaters actually had a say in it. Nobody moved, but he continued anyway, "Good, good. Ah, would…the Malfoys please stay after, I must speak to you privately about another matter. But, if you would step outside? I need to speak with my daughter."

Hermione stood up from her chair as everyone left and looked expectantly at her father. "Yes, father? What did we need to talk about?"

Voldemort shut the door and then turned to her, and a smile flickered across his lips. "_Crucio,_" he murmured, pointing his wand at her.

It was a pain beyond pain. It felt as if her bones were on fire, as if she was being suffocated, and her lungs were burning for oxygen. Her own screams rang in her eardrums and reverberated in her head, which felt like it was going to split and spill her brains all over the floor. Surely, her heart would burst.

And then it was over. She lay, panting on the floor, unable to move. Draco had been immobilized, and was standing mid-step on his way to her. She drew her head up and looked at Voldemort in confusion. "Now, Chicklet," he said softly. "Next time I invite you to a meeting, assume that meeting is invitation only. In other words," he paused for dramatic effect that was lost upon her, "No guests." He lazily flicked his wand, "_Crucio._"

The pain was far worse than last time. Her body already ached from hitting the floor as well as the torture of the spell. This time, it was just…unimaginable pain. When it was finally over, she lay wheezing on the floor, and Draco was kneeling over her, helping her up. Tears rolled from her eyes in generous amounts, and she hurt too much to wipe them away. Voldemort walked over, and Draco bared his teeth at him but stepped away from her.

The Dark Lord pulled back her hood and gently kissed her forehead. She was too exhausted to even shiver. They were handed a portkey and bid adieu as she felt a painful jerk behind her navel and they were gone.

Hogsmeade appeared before her, and Hermione made no move to get up from the ground. She was still breathing raggedly from the spell, and tears still made their way down her cheeks. Draco picked her up and cradled her to him as he carried her back to Hogwarts. She wept the whole way, and Draco was already up on the seventh floor before he seemed to realize that he didn't know exactly where Gryffindor tower was.

"Er…where's your common room?" he asked her gently.

Frantically, Hermione wrapped her arms around him, saying quietly, "Please don't leave me."

"Oh, Hermione," he breathed into her hair, "I'd never leave you. Here, I've got an idea." He walked them down the hall and then began to pace in front of a wall. It took Hermione a while to get her brain to connect to the fact that it was the Room of Requirement. A door appeared, and Draco led them through it to a room lavishly decorated with greens and blacks and silver accents.

Without setting her down, Draco pulled back the blankets on the bed and set her between them in a sitting position. She was confused for a minute, but then he took off her cloak, her school robe, and her shoes before picking her up again and brushing them off the bed and tucking her in. He picked up her stuff and hung them on the back of a chair.

Her eyes widened with fear as he walked over to her and kissed her forehead. Was he going to leave her? She didn't want to be left alone, especially not in a strange room with a strange bed and in the darkness. "You want me to stay?" he asked, seeing her look. He brushed back a curl of hair and she nodded tiredly.

He went back to the chair and took off his own cloak and robe and shoes, but as an afterthought, took off his shirt too. She smiled slightly at him, thinking about how beautiful he was as he came and lay on top of the blankets next to her. He rolled onto his side and wrapped his arm around her comfortingly. "You can," she yawned, "You can come under the blankets if you want to," she murmured exhaustedly.

"Too hot," he mumbled back in her ear. "But if you want me to…?" Hermione thought about it for a second, and nodded slightly. Draco squirmed until he'd displaced the blankets enough to get under them and then wrapped his arm around her again. She shivered happily at his warm touch and snuggled up to him, ready for sleep.

* * *

_I served out my detention_

—Fall Out Boy, "Honorable Mention"

* * *

Okay, that chapter was 2 pages longer than I meant it to be, because I needed to get those last scenes out. I hope you all enjoyed! 


	12. Chapter 11: More Blackmail?

A/N: Engh. :dies: **hogwartsboyzrhot, **I already answered that. I think it's at the end of chapter…eh, 9 or something (which means the 10th chapter on the list). :sobs: people don't read my author's notes (eh, not like I do either. But I think I put it in big, bold letters, so if you were wondering it, you could've just read it…).

CHAPTER 11: Blackmail again?

Hermione did not sleep much that night. Even though she was more comfortable in a bed that day than she ever had been, and was immeasurably reassured by Draco's arm around her, she just could not sleep. At some point, she wished that she had a clock, and so one lay on a nightstand beside her. A faintly glowing clock appeared on the ceiling, like in Draco's room. It was almost half-past one, which meant she hadn't slept at all the whole night.

She sighed sadly, and Draco mumbled, "You can't sleep either?" She just shook her head, which made her whole body ache. Draco propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her. She curled up closer to him.

"Thank you," she murmured, looking up into his eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Well, for one," he said, leaning down and kissing her forehead, "You'd have to walk back to the school all alone. For two," he kissed her cheek, "You would have to attend Death Eater meetings all alone. For three," he kissed her other cheek, "You would have to cry into a pillow rather than on me. And four," he kissed her nose, "You would probably not be cheating on the Weasel. Then again," he said as an afterthought, "You wouldn't have been blackmailed into dating him in the first place."

Though her muscles protested at the use of her arms, she reached up and pulled him down to her level to kiss him. It was a chaste kiss, and they did nothing afterward to follow up except that Draco lay down next to her again, and wrapped his arm around her. She lay her own arm across his, and the affectionate gesture gave him warm chills, so he pulled her closer.

They lay there like that for a long time, and both of them were awake most of the night. At one point, Hermione thought Draco had fallen asleep, and turned a little to look up at him, but he opened one eye slightly to reassure her that he was awake, and she smiled softly at him and settled in again.

Around three-thirty in the morning, Hermione dozed off, but when Draco got out of bed, she woke up immediately, frightened. He was pulling on his shirt and cloak, and she said hoarsely, "You're leaving?"

He jumped at the noise, but turned back to her and kissed her forehead. "I'll be right back, I promise." And with that, he left, returning a nerve-wracking thirty minutes later. Before she could say anything to him, he said, "I was getting thirsty, so I brought us some water," he placed a jug of water on the table along with two glasses. She grinned at his thoughtfulness.

"So the house elves are up even at—" she checked the clock, "—nearly half-past four in the morning?"

Draco shrugged, "A couple of them were. I'm sorry that took so long," he said, pouring them both glasses as she struggled to sit up. Draco put down the glasses and propped her up with several pillows. Frowning, he looked down at her weak form. "You're going to need a spell for that. It would look exceedingly suspicious if you could hardly walk today. Of course, rest whenever you can, you wouldn't want to overtax your muscles. You just can't walk around as if you're in that much pain."

Hermione nodded, thinking of the spell she would need. Either an able-bodied spell or a temporary painkiller would work. She couldn't do the former, because that actually changed your body's shape and figure, so she'd have to do a painkiller. The bad thing about the painkiller was that you would take on double the pain once it was off. But as your body healed itself, the pain would abate. She sighed, it would have to do. She slowly sipped her water as Draco came and lay beside her.

"I guess I'm not going to any more meetings unless invited," Draco said ruefully, running his hand through his hair awkwardly.

But Hermione took a hard gleam in her eye as she put her glass down on the table, "Oh, you'll be invited."

"Hermione, don't," he began, sitting up and leaning on her pillows with her.

"Draco, you're coming whether he wants you or not. In fact, you are not to leave my side if there's ever a meeting. If this is the worst I have to suffer through to get you to be there, then this isn't so bad," she said, snuggling up to him. Looking into his eyes, she could almost see him agreeing with her, at least about their current position.

"No, Hermione. I can't…Don't…Hermione, I can't stand to watch you be tortured like that again." He shivered. "Don't do it, Hermione, please. Don't." She was shocked to see tears in his eyes. "I can't bear to see you get hurt. Not again." Her heart melted at his tears.

"Draco, I…I can't. I can't go there without you with me. I just—can't. I need you there," she whimpered, and tears welled up in her own eyes. He said nothing, but pulled her up onto his lap and wrapped both his arms around her.

"I'll try, Hermione. I'll try." They sat there silently for a long time, and after a while, Hermione dozed off. Draco stayed up long after and watched her sleep, thinking.

Hermione woke up again at a quarter after 5. Without looking, she knew Draco was still awake. She snuggled up closer to him as he laughed quietly. "You're awake again?"

"I can't sleep. It's not you, please don't think that, I've been far more comfortable this night than any other night. It's just…I'm sore. I hurt all over. I just can't sleep," she repeated with a shrug.

"I know," he agreed. "I haven't gotten much sleep myself."

"We don't get enough time together," she pointed out. "Detention doesn't count. And, anyways, you're finished with your detention. I still have another two weeks." She sighed.

"What are you in detention for, anyway?"

"Ah…That night that I came to see you and talk to you, Snape caught me going back to the common room. And he gave me three weeks of detention for it," she said. Draco winced, but Hermione just shrugged. "I don't mind, I just stay up a little later to do my homework." Draco nodded, but looked a little angry with himself anyway.

"I'm glad we don't have to go on the raid," Hermione said, "It's just another sleepless night, and I'm getting tired at the fluency of these."

"Yeah, I know," Draco agreed. "And anyway," he teased, "I don't have any use for more slaves at the moment. After all, I've got you." Laughing, Hermione slapped him lightly.

"Unfortunately for you, it's you who has to follow my orders. When it counts, anyway," she added. She flexed her shoulders, saying "I could really do with a bath right now." Suddenly there was the sound of running water, and her head snapped up to see a large bathtub in the middle of the floor. It was currently being filled with water. Out of sheer surprise, both she and Draco burst into laughter. "I forgot we were in the Room of Requirement," she giggled. "And even so, I wouldn't have expected it to actually get me a bath!" She rolled out of Draco's grip and took her wand with her as she went to transfigure her clothing into a swimsuit.

Hermione dropped into the pool with a satisfied groan. The water was neither too hot nor too cold, and it felt good on her aching muscles. _In fact, _she thought, _I didn't notice, but I'm already starting to feel less sore. Maybe the warm water will help just as much as lying down did._

She grinned as Draco waded in too. He came and settled on the step next to her, pulling her onto his lap. "So," he said, "How does my lady propose we conduct secret meetings? It would not do for a poor man to never see his fair maiden," he said, drawing her hand out of the water and kissing her fingertips.

Hermione smiled at him, but as she thought it quickly became a frown. "Hm…I really don't know. I have detention for the next two weeks, so I'm not going to have much free time. And then there's Ron, and I need to at least _pretend _to be slightly interested in him," she said in disgust. Draco wrinkled his nose, and she laughed and leaned up to kiss it. "I'm sorry, but if I don't, they'll find out about you. That brings up Ginny, who I need some dirt on so that I can get rid of Ron and also brings another task in the picture." She sighed, thinking, _this seems impossible_.

"I'll find you. Sometime, anytime, somewhere, anywhere. I'll find you," he promised.

"Mmm," she mumbled, closing her eyes, "Thank you, Draco." Suddenly, Draco stood, and she sank into the water. Spluttering, she came up, "Draco!" A wave of water suddenly came and hit her full in the face. "Oh, you're in for it now," she squealed, splashing him back.

Draco backed up into the deeper end, a playful gleam in his eyes. He smirked as her splash missed him completely. Laughing, he splashed her again. She swam closer to him and splashed him back just as hard. Grinning cheekily, she ducked under so that his wave went right over her head. But when she came back up, Draco was nowhere in sight. She looked around frantically and then was lifted off her feet and heaved over Draco's shoulder.

Draco spun her around and then dumped a very dizzy Hermione ungracefully into the water. When she came up disoriented, he splashed her immediately, and was pleased when he got her to laugh. Once again, Hermione felt herself lifted off her feet, but this time she was being carried like a piece of glass rather than a sack of potatoes. Draco placed her delicately on the edge of the pool and then held himself up on the edge to steal a kiss.

Beaming, Hermione slid off the edge and into the water to be pinned between his arms. A wave of déjà vu hit her, and she knew he felt it too. But this time, he wasn't going to pull back from her, and he didn't. He kissed her sweetly, and then Hermione launched a sneak attack, splashing him. She laughed at the shocked look on his face, and then he got a look in his eye that could only mean he was going to get her back for that.

Frantically, she pulled herself out of the water, deciding she was done with her relaxing bath. But suddenly, Draco was behind her, and he dragged her down to the ground, tickling her mercilessly. She squirmed and laughed until she cried, her aches forgotten for the moment. Without warning, Draco's hands stopped tickling her, and he leaned over her. His beautiful gray eyes looked down on her lovingly, and she grabbed his neck to pull him down for a fervent kiss.

Abruptly, Draco pulled back and got up. He told her gruffly, "You should get dressed before you catch a chill," and took his own clothing with him to change. Hermione was left there with wide eyes wondering, _What the hell did I do wrong this time?_

Draco was silent as they both dressed, and Hermione towel-dried her hair so it wouldn't drip on her clothing. Finished with that, she hung the towel up on a hanger that suddenly appeared, and she looked up at Draco in confusion. "It's past six, you should go up to your room now."

"But…" Draco didn't even look back at her as he headed for the door. She ran and grabbed his arm. "Draco, what happened? You were fine, and then…?"

"Leave me alone," he said, brushing her off and leaving.

"Draco," she hollered as he shut the door behind him. He didn't turn around, didn't come back. She dropped to the floor in bewilderment. "What did I do?" she whispered to herself. After nearly five minutes of staring expectantly at the door, she knew for sure he wasn't coming back. Grumbling to herself, she stood and grabbed her cloak and pulled on her robe. Deciding she would get her bag on her way to breakfast, Hermione slogged to Gryffindor tower and woke up the Fat Lady to let her in.

Dropping into her bed like a stone, she stared at the ceiling, puzzled. For hours, she contemplated Draco's reaction until she heard Lavender and Parvati get up and go to breakfast. Only then did she get up and dress in new clothing and leave the room.

* * *

Draco walked quickly down the hall. He needed to get away from there, away from _her. _Yes, he liked her a lot. But it was nowhere near being in love. Draco didn't fall in love—he wasn't the type. But to know that he loved her, even a little, was too much of a shock for him to take easily. So he had walked away. 

It had been too painful too look down into her loving brown eyes, and know without a doubt that the same look was reflected in his eyes. And he had kissed her just as passionately as she had him, and that was when he was sure. She wasn't like all the other dalliances he'd had. She wasn't like Pansy, who would just let him take her at any time he wanted and not expect anything from him. No, she wasn't like a friend-with-benefits. She was…she was someone he cared for, and who cared for him.

And the thought of that was something he couldn't bear. He couldn't stand to know that he may be in far too deep with her. That this little warm feeling he got when he thought of her could grow into something far more lively. Indeed, she was a wonderful warrior, to be able to pierce such a cold heart as his when no one else had been able to.

Perhaps that was it though. No one else had been able to warm the cold light out of his eyes before. He had no experience at loving someone, for there had been no other. He had never allowed himself (or even happened to find himself) loving someone any more than as a friend. He considered his own parents and his friends equal in his heart. And here Hermione was, and she had surpassed them all, even if it was only by a miniscule amount.

Draco was scared.

* * *

Hermione grabbed her bag as she went to the Great Hall for breakfast. She would say she was taking it to the library so she could get some homework done. It was true enough. She'd already placed a painkilling spell on herself for the day, and didn't think she would need it again tomorrow. When she'd gotten up from her bed and stretched, she was already feeling less sore, and figured it would be gone by the end of today if she hadn't used the spell. 

But she couldn't risk even the littlest slip up, and so had done it anyway.

Overall, Hermione's day was miserable. She worked on her homework in the library, wishing for Draco to come in and do or say something. But he didn't come, and she worked diligently, dropping into the Great Hall for a sandwich before holing up in the library again. She finished her Ancient Runes project that day, a project estimated to take a week. But she worked attentively, not bothering for breaks or any other distractions.

Draco did not come to her that day. And after dinner, when Ron took her off to snog her, she snogged him back fiercely, getting out all of the frustration Draco had instilled in her. He pulled back looking astonished at her intensity, but she yanked him back down to her. The door of the formerly-empty classroom opened, and Hermione jerked her head back from Ron to see Draco standing there. Ron, oblivious to Draco's presence kissed her neck while she looked at the blonde.

Draco's expression was stricken, and Hermione was expressionless. But then he took a step back and closed the door in front of him. Disappointed, she pulled back from Ron. "Ron, I'm sorry, but I want to finish up my Ancient Runes homework." It was true enough, she still had some homework, though she'd finished the project that was due in two weeks. She kissed him on the cheek and escaped to the library.

As the tears threatened to fall, Hermione pushed away her work so she wouldn't get it wet. "Damn him," she muttered under her breath as a frustrated tear fell on the table. "Make up your mind," she snarled at the table as if it was Draco. "Do you want me or not?" Another tear fell, and she wiped the table clean, drying off her eyes. Two tears. That was enough. No more. She sighed as she pulled her homework to her and finished it up. Looking at her homework schedule, she noticed a Charms essay due in a week. Trying to keep her mind off the annoying blonde, she got out her supplies for Charms and began to work on it.

Before she knew it, it was already ten o'clock, and Madam Pince was ushering her out. Sighing tremulously, she scanned her mind for other places she could go, and decided on her common room. She could immerse herself once again in homework there, and therefore not think about a certain Slytherin.

_This is his problem, not mine, _she reminded herself. _Too bad I'm the one he's hurting. _Gryffindor tower was a flurry of activity. Hermione grabbed the closest person—Colin Creevy—and asked them what had happened. "Neville's toad was transfigured into a spider," he said excitedly, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'too bad I can't get close enough for a picture' under his breath.

Hermione waded through the screaming girls and pushed aside boys that looked on with interest as she clicked through her brain for the right spell. When she got to the cabinet where the toad-turned-spider had hidden itself under, she pushed everyone aside, grumbling under her breath. Could no one get a spell right around here?

She used a levitating spell to get the cabinet off the ground and got down on her hands and knees. A large, skinny spider that looked a sickly green color was cowering in the corner. Muttering the correct transfiguration spell, she made it back into a toad and handed it to Neville. Hermione glared at the seventh years that had merely looked on in amusement without offering a helping hand and gathered up her things, deciding do go to bed early.

Hermione flopped onto her bed with an annoyed sigh. It had not been a good day. She frowned up at her ceiling, and undid her painkilling spell. Before long, she was dozing off when Lavender and Parvati came in.

"Oooh, she's asleep already," Parvati whispered, putting her bed curtains back.

"Then shut up and let her sleep," Lavender said softly. Hermione rolled over and fell into the deeper clutches of a true sleep.

The morning dawned bright, and Hermione woke up with a groan. Instantly, her thoughts plummeted to Draco. She wished she could say yesterday had been a dream, but she knew it wasn't. Already knowing her day would be miserable, she succumbed to the unending depression that was beginning to be her life and she packed up her bag to plunge into another day of intense focus on her studies. Skipping breakfast (she didn't feel too hungry anyway), she went straight to the library, where she picked a table far in the back and spread out the work she wanted to get done that day. There was a two foot long Defense Against the Dark Arts essay due on Tuesday that she wanted to finish (it was already a healthy three feet long), and then there was also a potion recipe for Potions (they were working on the effects of certain herbs and items in potions, and so Snape had told them to make their own potion recipe so long as it fit his guidelines). Surprisingly, there was even a foot-long Herbology essay that she as ashamed to admit was due the next day, which Hermione hadn't even started.

She got to work. By one in the afternoon, she had already finished the work she'd set out. Frowning, she decided to find Harry and Ron and see if they wanted to visit Hagrid. They hadn't seen the friendly half-giant in a while.

She packed everything up and went in search of the boys, finding them playing wizard chess in the common room. She sat and watched until their game was over before saying, "We haven't seen Hagrid in a while, can we go down and visit him?"

Harry and Ron shared a guilty look. Harry smacked his head and said, "I forgot about him…oh, how could I have forgotten? It's already late October, and we haven't even seen Hagrid."

"Then let's go," Ron said. Quickly packing up the game, the trio left. Ron's hand automatically found Hermione's, and she ignored it. Fang barked loudly as they knocked, and Hagrid let them in with an oddly grim look on his face. "So, Hagrid," Ron said into the awkward silence, "How's it been?"

"Oh, good, good. Yeh know, I only have a few sixth years now, so classes are a bit more intimate," Hagrid said accusingly, looking at them.

"Oh, Hagrid," Hermione said briskly, "We're sorry, but none of our future careers involve magical creatures. Or, at least," she said, glancing to Harry, "Not caring for them."

Hagrid nodded acceptingly, but still looked hurt. "I know, I know, do any of yeh want scones?" he said. They all took some, though they nearly broke their teeth on them. Hagrid bustled around making tea and said, "I wish yeh would come over more often though, it's been getting kind of lonely with Fang here. We can all go and visit Grawp even. He can speak pretty good now, he can," Hagrid said proudly.

Hermione's spirits brightened a little after their visit with Hagrid. That hadn't been so bad, though she worried about her teeth after the scones. Smiling gently to herself, she went back to the library where she did some Arithmancy work before dinner.

Dinner wasn't so bad either. Ron was too immersed in talking to Harry about quidditch to even try to be boyfriend-ly to her. So she ate without Ron hanging on to her, and listened to Lavender and Parvati's consistent prattle about useless things while she sat silently.

Ron tried to pull her off that night, but she made the excuse that she wanted to bathe again that night and peeled off from him to do so. But the bath was unsatisfying, and while it eased away the last of her aches and pains, she wanted to get out before a half-hour was up. But she stayed in only because she didn't want to go back to the common room before ten, on the hopes that Harry and Ron would already be in bed.

Sighing in disappointment, Hermione left the warm bathing room at nine thirty precisely, unable to stand being in there anymore. She dragged herself up the stairs, feeling dismayed that she was going up to Gryffindor tower so early. Quite suddenly, something bowled her over and virtually threw her into an empty room. Her wand was drawn even as she stumbled. She glared up at the person only to be hugely confused.

"Draco?" she asked. He looked extremely apologetic, which seemed odd on his features.

"Hermione, I…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…I didn't mean to…" he didn't seem to know quite what to say. She stood stock still as he walked over to her and embraced her, "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…" but Hermione wasn't looking at him anymore, she was looking out the door, which Draco had forgotten to close behind him.

"Idiot," she hissed gleefully. She stood on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the mouth to let him know she accepted his apology and then she indicated he be quiet and follow her. She didn't need to hear anything to know whom it had been walking past the door of the room. She already knew who the person was and where they were going. She smirked as she began her hunt.

Ginny was going to Professor Wood, and Hermione would be there to catch them if anything happened.

* * *

Ginny scurried down to Orlando's quarters. She was going to be late, she knew. She slowed to a walk on his corridor though, so that by the time she got there, she wouldn't be breathing heavily. The door opened without her even needing to knock. She slipped into the room, checking that no one else was in the hallway. Orlando shut the door with a snap. 

"Sorry I'm late," she said breathlessly.

Orlando just shrugged. "Tea?" he asked. She nodded vigorously and he handed her a cup. She took a sip to see if it already had sugar in it and grinned at him while he poured his tea, ignoring her scalded tongue. "Oh, it already has sugar in it," he added, not realizing she already knew that.

"I noticed, and thank you," she said, waiting for him to sit in his big armchair. When he did, she established herself on his lap, and they sipped their teas in the empty silence. "So," she whispered, "How was your day?"

"The usual Sunday routine, you know, grading papers, eating, meeting with you." She grinned at the sparkle in his eyes and snuggled closer to him.

"Gin, you shouldn't," he began. She put her cup down with a snap.

"Orlando, I don't care what I shouldn't do. You tell me I shouldn't do this, I shouldn't do that, and you don't kiss me goodbye every night, not even on the cheek!" she snapped at him, frustrated.

"Gin," he tried to reason.

She stood up angrily. "Orlando, I don't care that you're that much older, you're the only one I want. Can't you see that?" she accused in dismay.

He stood too, "Gin, we can't just do everything that most couples do. I thought you understood that." His voice was cold, and he gave her a hard stare. "You said you could wait."

"I can, but…Oh, Orlando! You can't even kiss me on the cheek once in a while? Not even when we're alone?" she whimpered.

"Oh, Gin," he said, coming and wrapping his arms around her. "I knew this would be hardest on you. You have to be—" But Ginny didn't wait to find out what she had to be. She kissed him before he could finish, and was surprised when he let it be. The kiss went on a bit longer than she thought it would, and she could feel the underlying feelings behind it.

And it was then that she knew his side too. He would be just as faithful to her as she would be to him. When he pulled back and kissed her forehead, murmuring, "Be satisfied," under his breath, and all she could do was nod. He loved her too, and it just bowled her over that he did. She grinned into his chest.

"Why you little bitch," a male voice sputtered. Ginny froze, realizing the position she and Orlando were in. Turning slowly, she saw Hermione and Malfoy leaning against the wall next to the door. Draco continued, "How the hell can you—"

Hermione put her hand on her arm to quiet him. Orlando stepped away from her. "Why Ginny," Hermione said softly, her tones rich with amusement, "It seems that you have your own dirty little secrets."

"Oh, Hermione, you wouldn't dare," Ginny growled.

"Wouldn't I? Oh, yes, Ginny. I would dare. And unfortunately, the only thing you can expect of this is blackmail. After all," Hermione looked down at her fingernails casually, "That's exactly what you did to me."

"You can't tell them!" Ginny shrieked.

"Can't I?"

"If you tell them, then I'll tell them about you two!" she growled.

The tension grew, and Hermione opened her mouth to say something before a confused look crossed her face. The oddness of the situation also seemed to hit Ginny, and in unison, the girls began to laugh. Ginny staggered over to Hermione between her giggles and gave her a big hug, "Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry, I've been so mean!"

"Can you believe what we just did? That was so stupid! I can't believe us," Hermione interjected between her laughs.

"Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry!" Ginny said, hugging her tighter.

Hermione squeezed her back, "I know, me too!"

Ginny leaned up and whispered excitedly in Hermione's ear, "We've been pen pals for over two years, and I think I might be in love with him."

"Gin, that's wonderful!" Chatting frantically in order to try to catch up on lost time between the two of them, they walked out of the door together with linked arms, barely remembering to wave goodbye to their respective boyfriends.

* * *

Draco looked at Professor Wood in bewilderment. "What the bloody hell just happened?" he asked him. 

Professor Wood gaped at the door. "I have no idea." He went over to a cabinet and took out a flask of whiskey. He took a long drag, and offered it to the younger blonde. Draco took it and took a swig too.

"So, ah, you and Hermione? That's certainly interesting," the young professor said, taking another gulp from the flask.

"Huh, I think your thing with the Weasley girl is even more interesting, Professor Wood," Draco said, taking back the flask and having one last swallow.

"Oh, please, call me Orlando," he said, chugging the last of the whiskey and putting the empty flask down on the table. "So, how long have you two been…ah, together?"

"Since that night when she was crying and I dragged her out of there, and then we came back. Kind of a weird story, in fact," Draco said, beginning to tell the tale.

The student and professor sat there long into the night, discussing their relationships, and then moving on to quidditch afterward until Draco went off to his bed around midnight.

* * *

_We're friends when you're on your knees  
Make them dance like we were shooting their feet_

—Fall Out Boy "Our Lawyer Made Us Change The Name Of This Song So We Wouldn't Get Sued"


	13. Chapter 12: Painful Dreams

A/N: Whew, **Alianne, **you do test my knowledge. :happy: Nice to know there are reviewers out there thinking about what's going to happen. I'd love to answer your questions (if I can…!), so look for a few answers at the bottom! And to everyone else, I know this chapter is really…weird. I kinda didn't really know what to put in it! But I think it turned out okay, hope you all enjoy!

CHAPTER 12: Painful Dreams

Hermione went to bed very satisfied. Ginny was no longer blackmailing her, they were friends again, and Draco was with her. She could be getting rid of Ron tomorrow, and she had finished much of her homework for the next two weeks.

Upon waking, Hermione stretched happily and dressed with a smile on her lips. Everything was going really well for her right now. Humming to herself, she packed her book bag and fairly skipped downstairs to breakfast. She ignored Ron's empty seat next to him, giving him an I-hope-you-don't-mind look and sitting next to Ginny, whom she talked to the whole time.

A note came by owl telling her that her detention this week was to be served grading Professor Vector's Arithmancy homework. She sighed. Arithmancy was her hardest class. _Well, the note only says for this week_, Hermione reflected. _It'll be something new next week, probably._

She finished her breakfast and hurried out to Herbology. They spent the first period removing seeds from the ears of drawlish pixies, a task harder than it should be because the pixies did not like their ears to be touched. When Harry and Ron joined them for the second period, they potted the seeds. As soon as they were watered, a strange blue-striped violet plant sprouted, and Professor Sprout explained how the seeds that would come off of this plant were used in sleeping draughts.

Speeding past Harry and Ron she and Ginny caught up again during lunch. This time, though, conversation became serious as they began to discuss how she should break up with Ron. They agreed sadly that when he pulled her aside after dinner she should break it off then, and then just go early to detention.

Ginny walked Hermione to her next class (Charms), where Harry and Ron overtook them and Ginny left to get to her own class.

Hermione was glad that after Charms she had Ancient Runes while Harry and Ron had double Charms. She wouldn't have to sit there with Ron again, knowing she would break his heart right after dinner. She was beginning to feel nervous about the whole thing, but when dinner came and went, she took a deep breath and steeled herself as Ron took her hand and pulled her off to the side.

She looked up at him and said, her voice deceptively steady, "Ron, I want to break up." His jaw dropped, and he ran a hand nervously through his hair. He looked dazed.

"Wh—what?" he stuttered.

"I think we should break up," she said.

As if his brain wasn't quite connecting to what was happening, Ron said, "But _why_?" It killed her to see the tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I only like you as a friend," she said softly. He blinked in confusion, and she gave him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek before leaving.

Hermione's hand was raised to knock at the door before someone pulled her into a closet. Frightened, she pulled her wand and turned to look at her unknown captor. "Draco," she breathed, replacing her wand.

"So is it done?" he said cheerfully.

"Yes, but…oh, Draco," she said, pulling him into a hug. She didn't let go for a long while, and when she did, he looked confused.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

"Draco, I just broke up with him," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, so now we can be together. What's the problem?" Hermione sighed, suspecting he wouldn't understand even if she did her best to explain it. Though he wasn't the cold, heartless Draco Malfoy she had known before he obviously had never had his heart broken.

Or felt pain when he had broken someone else's.

But as he held her close, she wondered why he wasn't the old Draco anymore. With a sudden rush of understanding, she realized it wasn't him that had changed, not really. He had molded himself to fit her new status. And it would appear that he had grown to like her for her, not just for her role as the Dark Lady. But the change, it seemed, was only for her to see. To everyone else, he was the same git he had been before. She thought back, remembering the few encounters she had watched of him with other people. He was still the same person to them, though, if she thought about it, he had been a little softer around the edges, and his insults had become less (though he replaced all the insults with vicious sneers).

He had changed to fit his queen, but she was the only one who would ever be able to view the beauty of the change.

She too had changed, and she knew it.

She lifted her head so that he could kiss her, and he quickly dispensed her of her previous thoughts, which is what she had been hoping for.

Slightly mussed, Hermione stumbled into Professor Vector's office. He pointed to a stack of papers and handed her a quill, pointing out a sheet of parchment that listed what he was looking for in the essays. She settled in the chair behind the desk and got to work.

The words were blurring before Hermione's eyes before she was allowed to go bed. Even so, she lingered in the hallways, not wanting to see Ron in the common room and view the hurt in his eyes. She was thankful when she walked in through the portrait that there were only a few people there, and Ginny jumped up immediately to draw her over to a vacant corner, where they talked for about fifteen minutes about how Ron had taken the break up.

"He wanders around as if in a dream. I think that's what he hopes it is," Ginny confided in her. Nodding in dismay, Hermione executed a jaw-cracking yawn, and Ginny laughed and urged her to go to bed. Hermione fell asleep almost instantly.

The rest of the week passed rather quickly, and Hermione was surprised at how soon Friday came. The Halloween feast was, as usual, wonderful, and she spent much time with Ginny and sometimes Harry during the week. Ron couldn't seem to get up the nerve to talk to her, and had looked miserable all week, which made Hermione sad whenever she looked at him.

During the feast, Draco met her eyes across the room. A gray eye disappeared under a slow wink, and he tilted his head to the door. Instantly, Hermione began to work herself into a fake sickness. Draco left right away, but she waited for nearly fifteen minutes, at first slowing her eating, then taking a disgusted look to her face before looking all-out sick. After holding this last stage for a few minutes, she excused herself to go to bed, and no one questioned her.

She met Draco right outside the doors. He kissed her cheek, then took her hand and led her up to the seventh floor. The Room of Requirement was already there, with the door slightly ajar so it wouldn't disappear. Before she could glimpse anything, Draco covered her eyes with his hands and guided her in, closing the door behind them. "Happy Halloween," he whispered, giving her shivers and taking his hands down.

"Oh, Draco," she said excitedly. The room was a cozy little place rather like the Gryffindor common room, but draped in greens, silvers and blacks. There was a fire crackling in the fireplace, and a small mahogany coffee table between the fire and a black loveseat. Taking her hand, he pulled her over to the small sofa, and sat down on it. Now that she was closer, what she had mistaken for an ornate piece of glass in the center of the coffee table was a silver-wrapped present.

"That's for you," he said, indicating the gift as he stretched out.

Hermione looked at it in dismay. "Draco, I didn't…"

He hushed her gently and pulled her down to him to kiss her sweetly. "Yes, you did," he said. "You gave me your time." She began to protest again, and he leaned over her legs and took the present, handing it to her. Hermione sat down on the edge of the couch, and he curled himself around her and supported himself with one arm to put his chin on her shoulder. With shaking hands, she unwrapped the book and put it on her knees before she could drop it.

"Draco," she said worriedly. "I can't accept this. There are only fifty copies of it in the whole world." It was a book, a wonderful, horrendously rare text that had been written by Merlin himself. Merlin had made the fifty copies himself, and then had put anti-duplicating charms on every single one of them. Currently the fifty were scattered across the globe, and the Ministry of Magic had lost track of them over the years, which was a shame.

"I know," he said, kissing her ear. "I want you to have it."

"Draco, I really _really _can't," she said. She couldn't. She just couldn't take a book as rare as this.

"Hush," he said, kissing her neck tenderly, "My mum owns another copy. This one's mine, I'm free to do with it as I wish. And I want you to have it." With shaking hands, Hermione put the book back on the table, not wanting it to get blemished, before she turned to Draco, who was chuckling. "It has several spells on it to keep it from being damaged, you know."

"I don't know what to say, Draco," she murmured.

"Then don't," he said, kissing her. "Besides," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "It's not every day that Hermione Granger doesn't know something. We can take a minute to let it sink in," he joked. Grinning, she smacked him lightly on the shoulder.

"Just for that, I'm not going to kiss you all night," she said haughtily, putting her nose in the air.

"Really now?" he asked, and she could tell he was going to make her eat her words. "Even if I do this?" Draco breathed softly on her neck before he kissed it, giving her chills. He worked his way up to her ear and nibbled it gently before he kissed that too. Returning to her neck, he gently kissed it until she began to grow frustrated. She watched herself fall into a pleasurable malleability, and felt her will begin to melt. Draco wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her away from the edge of the sofa into his lap. He ruthlessly kissed her neck until she finally just turned around and kissed him.

Laughing, he pulled away, feigning confusion. "I thought you said you weren't going to kiss me?"

"Oh, shut up," she growled, pulling him down to her to kiss him.

* * *

The feast was over, and everyone went up to bed. Ginny desperately wanted to sneak away, but knew she couldn't until everyone thought she was asleep. She clambered into her bed until her roommates had shut off their lights and then slipped down to the common room. 

"So how's it coming?" the whisper sounded like Harry's voice while he climbed up the boy's staircase.

"It's going really well," Ron's voice whispered. "We may be able to have it in time for the ball."

"That's excellent," Harry said, and then the voices faded too much for Ginny to hear and she smiled at their conversation. They were planning to pull a prank at the ball. She wished slightly that they would have included her in on the plan, but figured she had better things to be doing right now. She cautiously poked her head into the common room and was elated to see no one else was in there.

Pulling her cloak tighter around her, she slid out of the common room and into the hallway. The Fat Lady mumbled sleepily to herself, and Ginny felt a pang of guilt for when she woke up the portrait later. Shrugging it off, she glided down the halls until she reached the one she was looking for.

Ginny knocked quietly at the door. It opened at her touch, and she walked in, shutting it with a soft click behind her. A fire was burning low in the hearth, and she looked around to find Orlando asleep on his couch. She smiled softly at him: he had been waiting up for her and had fallen asleep.

She poked around his quarters cautiously, searching for a blanket to cover him up with. One door opened up to his room, and though curious, she shut it without going in. Going to the other door, she found a pantry…only one other door (besides the bathroom, but she already knew which door that was). Opening it, she found what she had wanted: a hall closet. She gently shifted through the things until she found a cozy little blanket.

After draping the blanket over his sleeping figure, she kissed his forehead gently. He looked so much younger in sleep, just like a little child. It made her want to curl up next to him, but she knew she couldn't. Sighing gently, she glanced over at the fire, now just a layer of embers on the bottom of the fireplace. She banked it so that he wouldn't get cold and then left, shutting the door behind her.

Ginny ghosted back up to her room, and ignored the Fat Lady's indignant squawks of annoyance. She went to sleep with a gentle smile on her face and the image of her love sleeping peacefully with firelight on his face.

* * *

In the morning, Hermione did something she had been meaning to do for a while. She sat down and penned a letter to Lord Voldemort. After much editing, her final letter was: 

_I am sorry, Father, and I know it was wrong to bring a guest the other night. I should not have done so, and am ashamed at my lack of forethought. But there is something I would like to ask you, and I want you to seriously consider this before you say yes or no. Can you admit Draco Malfoy into your inner circle? I hope you will say yes, because I wish for him to accompany me to all of the meetings, for walking to and from the castle is boring without his company._

_I eagerly await your answer._

Your daughter 

With shaking fingers, she folded it up and sealed it. Now she just needed to ask Draco for the use of his owl. She left the common room and went down to the hallway down to the dungeons and hid herself in a closet with the door slightly ajar so she could see people passing. After nearly an hour, she began to grow impatient—breakfast would end soon. But then finally she saw the familiar blonde come down the hall.

She shouldered the door open right in front of Draco's face and dragged him into the closet. "Draco, I need to use your owl," she said. He rubbed his shoulder where it had hit the wall.

"Don't need to kill me to ask for it," he grumbled.

Standing on tiptoe to get to his height, she kissed him on the lips, and was startled when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. The kiss was more prolonged than she had originally meant it, but that didn't matter, and she pulled away to breathe smiling. "Is that better?" she whispered.

"Yes," he breathed. "I'll get my owl, meet you right back here in five minutes." With that, he left, and Hermione sat on a box in the darkness. In what seemed forever (but must've only been five minutes) he was back. She tied the letter to the owl's leg, and it ruffled its feathers as if irritated and nipped at her. Draco took the bird and held it behind his back as he leaned forward to give her a parting kiss. "Bye. I'll see you around." He caressed her cheek and tugged on a curl before leaving her alone in the dark again.

Hermione waited nearly ten minutes before dashing to breakfast in time to snatch a single piece of toast. Smirking in a self-satisfied fashion, she went back into the Entrance Hall to see a sudden influx of people in the minute she'd been in the Great Hall. "What the…?" she murmured under her breath, and then she realized what it was.

Hogsmeade was coming to Hogwarts. Hermione grinned and dashed upstairs to get her money purse, she needed a new quill and some more parchment for her classes.

* * *

Voldemort sat behind his great desk and contemplated the letter in front of him. It was from his daughter, and it was asking him to include her little—he sneered—friend into his inner circle. 

The most shocking thing was that he was actually considering it. He knew he shouldn't, but the beseeching tone that had melted into her handwriting got to him. The Malfoy boy hadn't done anything remotely worthy of being included into his inner circle except for having his parents and the whatever-it-was (respect? what exactly was between them?) of his Chicklet.

_My Hermione_, he corrected himself mentally to avoid attachment, and then flinched. "No," he said aloud. "No names, pet, real, or other. She is merely my tool."

He picked up the letter and set it down indecisively. He really didn't know what to do about this. It would gain her favor if he did and she would be less likely to rebel. If he didn't, she would probably be angry with him and may even be defiant enough to bring him anyway. Of course, if he allowed the boy to come, he would also be privy to Lord Voldemort's most secretive plans.

But if he didn't, who knew what Hermione—_my tool, _he corrected lazily—would do. The Malfoys would certainly be happy, not that they mattered, but it may prompt Lucius to do the task that he was asking of him.

Setting his jaw defiantly, he grabbed his quill and wrote a reply.

* * *

That evening, Hermione found Draco's eagle owl on her bed. It snapped its beak at her fiercely, as if annoyed at making it wait so long. Recognizing the plain envelope, she ripped it open eagerly, then looked around the room. Good, no one else was there. She quickly scanned it, then dropped it onto the bed, unsure of what to make of it: 

_Convince me. I have several ideas of negative effects of granting your request, such as angry D.E.'s who could not make it in no matter how hard they tried, him being privy to my most private plans. It would undermine my authority if I bent merely to your wish._

_Or if you could find some way for him to be here but be unseen then make arrangements. It would be best that way._

_Father_

Hermione's head swam. _Convince him? _She had no idea even where to begin. Draco hadn't really done anything to be worthy of inner circle status. She couldn't just say, 'He carries me up to bed when I faint or if I'm hurt,' that wouldn't get her anywhere. Voldemort didn't understand feelings, so she couldn't just write a heartfelt letter.

Gnawing on her nails, she reread the last paragraph. _Some way to not be seen…_an idea was beginning to blossom in her mind. She grabbed a spare piece of parchment and wrote:

_Usual place. Midnight._

_D.L._

She tied it to the owl's leg and said, "Go on back to Draco now, and give him the letter." It hissed at her on its way out, and she rolled her eyes. Boy, did that owl have attitude.

The rest of her night was spent under a pile of homework. Harry and Ron came in late, wet, muddy and grinning from quidditch practice. She smiled at them in return, and was glad when Ron gave her an uneasy smile, which she returned warmly. They came down and played a few games of wizard's chess. Halfway through their last game, Hermione finished her homework and put her stuff away, settling between the two boys to watch them.

Ron won the game with a yawn, which caught all around. Harry and he congratulated each other and then claimed sleepiness and went to bed. Hermione went to her dormitory too and got into her P.J's, crawling into her bed to read the book Draco had given her. She was asleep before long without meaning to.

A niggling feeling of unease woke Hermione up. She looked over to her clock. It was half an hour past midnight. She calmed herself down and put her book onto her nightstand, clicking off her light. She rolled over to go back to sleep when she remembered Draco. Like a shot, she was out of bed immediately and running barefoot down the hall to the Room of Requirement. Draco was just leaving, and looked over her attire dubiously as he opened the door back up and let her in.

"You okay?" he asked casually, obviously thinking she was but asking anyway.

Gasping for breath, she looked up at him apologetically. "I'm so sorry. I went up to bed to read and fell asleep."

Hermione was surprised when his look turned to one of concern. "Well, that explains your outfit," he said with a smirk. She looked down at herself and blushed. She was only wearing a small pair of shorts andhistank top. "You wear that to bed?" he said, tugging on the hem of his shirt. She blushed and nodded, not looking at him.Then he said in a concerned voice, "You obviously were tired. You should've just gone back to sleep," he said, pulling her into a hug.

"No, I needed to talk to you. Do you have an invisibility cloak?" she asked. Absently, she realized it was the same room as last night.

"No, those are really rare," Draco said. "Hm…though now that you mention it, I should ask mum to get me one. That would be bloody useful to have."

"Yes, do ask. Because I talked to father, and he said that if you had some way of being invisible, you could come to the meetings!" she said happily, smiling up at him.

"You're so beautiful when you're happy," he told her huskily. Still grinning, she looked up into the swirl of emotion in his pale gray eyes. She felt an echoing surge of emotion in her heart and he leaned down slowly to give her a chaste kiss. "You're my little secret," he muttered in her ear as he nibbled it gently.

"Yes," she whimpered, nearly losing herself in his touch. "And you're mine." Grinning wolfishly, he plucked her off the ground and carried her over to the couch, where they curled up and just watched the fire.

It wasn't too long before the mesmerizing flames and comfortable bulk of Draco at her side put Hermione to sleep.

* * *

Draco had known exactly what would happen when he'd put Hermione on the couch and curled up around her. He had wanted her to fall asleep there. As she slept, he examined her. _What is so special about her? What is it about her that makes me keep coming back?_ He traced a finger down her nose, across her lips. _What about her is making me like her more than I have ever liked anyone else?_

_Why is she my secret? _He wondered. _Why is she even mine? She shouldn't be. _"All you are is an ugly, filthy Mudblood," he whispered to her. But her features didn't change, and she even snuggled closer to him at the sound of his voice. "That's all you are, a plague on this land." He paused. "Why do you make me feel so much? Why are you doing this to me?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair in frustration, upsetting his perfectly slicked-back locks. "Hermione, I'm not _supposed _to have a heart. Why are you forcing me to have one?" He leaned over and brushed his lips across hers before settling down on his side next to her again, wrapping his arm around her.

"Oh, Hermione," he slurred sleepily. "I should get rid of you before you do anything else to me." He was silent for a long time, and then just before dropping off to sleep, he added, "But I think I'm going to keep you."

* * *

"_All you are is an ugly, filthy Mudblood," Draco sneered at her for the hundredth time. But this time she nearly burst into tears at it._

"_But Draco," she blubbered. "How…I thought you liked me? How could you turn on me like this?" She squirmed helplessly at his feet._

_The walls of the room they were in suddenly began an outpouring of ropes from between the stones. They piled up on the floor, hung from the ceiling, and they all bound her up, keeping her motionless where she knelt. The ropes from the ceiling lengthened and wrapped around her head, pulling up her chin so that she would have to look at him. She sobbed and through her tears, she saw another girl enter the room._

_The girl was beautiful, with long wavy blonde hair. She had brilliant green eyes like Harry's, and they were huge in her face. A pouty mouth, perfect body…Hermione was sickened and cried in despair as Draco pulled the girl close and kissed her passionately._

_Hermione glared daggers at the girl, and suddenly there was a dagger, and it was poking out of her stomach. The girl clutched at it in disbelief, and then with a smirk drew it and plunged it into Draco's chest, laughing cruelly. Draco looked up at her, his beautiful gray eyes becoming foggy. "Why do you make me feel so much? Why are you doing this to me?" he asked the girl._

_He shredded his shirt in an effort to get it off of him, and exposed the knife in his chest. Blood ran down his perfect skin, and he looked at Hermione in anguish and confusion. "Hermione, I'm not _supposed_ to have a heart. Why are you forcing me to have one?"_

_Suddenly she understood, and she felt terrible. He wasn't supposed to have a heart, and it was all her fault that he was dying now. If she had let him stay as he was, uncaring and heartless, he wouldn't have one that could be pierced by the dagger protruding from his chest. Then suddenly he was at her side, and the knife was hard between them as he kissed her gently._

"_Oh, Hermione," he slurred slightly in his pain. "I should get rid of you before you do anything else to me." He pulled the dagger out of his chest painfully, and held it up before her. He ran it across her cheeks, and then in a line down the center of her face, and then he held it at her throat, and she could feel it as a mercy strike, the same as she had done to Louis Frunge._

_There was a huge pause, and she begged him to kill her, to hold her, to do anything to her, so long as it was _something

_And after a long period of time, he tucked the knife into the ropes binding her chest, so that she could feel the hilt thrusting into her throat whenever she managed to move her head. "But I think I'm going to keep you," he told her ruthlessly. Suddenly a metal cage came to surround her, just big enough for her body in the cramped position the ropes kept her in._

_There was suddenly depression big enough to be a room in the floor in front of her. Draco walked down the steps on the side and settled himself on a throne in the center of the lower room, and looked up at her with his death-clouded gray eyes. Though it hurt to do it, she shifted her head down into the room so that she could meet his eyes. The hilt of the blade tucked into the ropes cut off most of her air supply, but to watch him was worth the pain._

_Blood still oozed from his chest and his shirt was still in tatters. Their eyes were locked, and she could see nothing but the gray in his eyes. But then she blinked, and saw that it wasn't a throne he was sitting on, it was a bed, and the blonde girl from earlier was giggling in his ear, kissing his neck and exposed chest, licking away his blood…_

_And then he turned to her and kissed her back passionately, and the two of them made love that was blurrily seen behind Hermione's lashes and tears. The hilt of that knife was slowly killing her, and she could save herself if she could just look up again, but she couldn't look up, she was too captivated by Draco and the scene below her that she didn't want to watch. She knew it was over between herself and him, and it crushed her beyond words._

_She died slowly, piece by piece as the dagger hilt suffocated her, and her depression from the loss of Draco smothered her, trapped in a cage made by her own Draco._

Hermione woke up with tears flowing down her cheeks, and the whisper of his name caught in her throat. Shaking, she looked around, confused by her surroundings. _The Room of Requirement_, she remembered, and then thought of her dream. _It's the same room as the one in my dream. I don't know how I know, but I know. _She shook violently, and seemed unable to stop.

Draco drowsily opened an eye, and then saw her tears and shot up, wrapping her in his arms immediately. "Are you okay, what happened?" he asked frantically, while he gently wiped her tears away. She shook in his grip, but after a while managed to calm herself.

"It was just a dream," she told him wearily. "Just a dream," she mumbled as they arranged themselves back on the couch. On her back, she stared at the ceiling while Draco positioned himself on his side next to her and wrapped his arm around her. He put his head on her shoulder, but she knew he wouldn't sleep until she did.

Her last thought before going back to sleep after staring at the ceiling for a long time was, _Would I really be that broken up about a break up with him? We have only been together for…not even two weeks yet. Am I already that attached to him?

* * *

__I'll keep you my dirty little secret_

_(Dirty little secret)_

_Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret_

_(Just another regret, hope that you can keep it)_

_My dirty little secret_

—All American Rejects "Dirty Little Secret"

* * *

**Alianne**, your questions and answers: You first asked if I got the name Orlando from Orlando Bloom. That, actually, would be a no. He was more of an afterthought. That was more of a reference to Tad Williams' Otherland series (which I'm still trying to get through…!), and I kinda liked the idea of Orlando and Oliver Wood. 

You asked how Draco and Hermione are going to be able to go to the Christmas ball together, when they have to keep their relationship secret and if she was going to disguise herself. The sad, pathetic truth is that I really have no idea how I'm going to write out that scene yet. I have some ideas for it, but I don't have a truly solid thought for that yet, so I'm still working on it. Hey, this chapter just ended on November 2nd (really early in the morning). I have time…ish…:blushes at lack of forethought:

Your last bit was asking if Hermione was really going to insist on having Draco come to all future meetings with the Dark Lord, and you were wondering if she was just saying that when she was emotional. "It just seems a bit extreme, considering how Voldemort will probably react." Well, yes, it would be a bit extreme. I think she was just trying to get her point across about how much she wanted him there. (:nervous: I really don't know myself, but I think she would.) I kinda addressed that in this chapter, but if you're still unclear about it, feel free to ask. :excited about getting questions she can answer from reviewers:

Ta ta, all! I'll try to get the next chapter out soon, but I really don't know what to put in it! **Would anyone mind if I kind of just skimmed over most of November?** :grumble:nothingmuchreallyhappensthenanyway:grumble:


	14. Chapter 13: Preparations

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out. I was having quite a few problems with several scenes, two of which I just ended up taking out! I also was having some chronological problems that I just remembered about…Not sure how I'll deal with those, but I'll get to it later. I love you all, my faithful reviewers!

CHAPTER 13: Preparations

The month of November seemed to dissolve before Hermione's eyes, and before she knew it, it was November 22nd. The Saturday dawned overcast, the clouds threatening to bathe them all before long. Hermione, Harry, and Ron went to visit Hagrid, and she found herself actually having fun. Somehow, the trio managed to get out of a meeting with Grawp too, although they had already gone earlier that month.

Hermione had been vaguely surprised when Harry and Ron had approached her proposing that they all go see Hagrid. She hadn't seen much of them lately, it seemed like one or the other of them were always sneaking off somewhere, or practicing quidditch, or off at classes or somewhere. But their lively visit with Hagrid was happy, and they all came back grinning.

While Hermione was in her dormitory putting her scarf, gloves, and coat away, there was a tapping at the window. She looked over to see Draco's eagle owl there, and she let it in quickly. The note it held tightly in its beak said:

_The usual place at midnight._

_D.M._

Grinning, she tucked the note away in her trunk. Today was their one-month anniversary. The note raised her spirits even more, if possible, and she flounced down to dinner positively ecstatic. Ginny smirked at her and winked—today was her one-month anniversary too. Ron glanced to her and away, still a little unsure of how to act around her. Harry raised his eyebrows at her expression, and she just shrugged happily at him. In the enchanted ceiling overhead, the clouds shattered into rain, and Hermione laughed excitedly.

After dinner she sat down with a book in the common room, but fidgeted endlessly in her excitement. Many people cast her odd looks, but she just ignored them all. Ginny and she would meet eyes occasionally, and they would each giggle excitedly. After a long while the common room cleared out, and Ginny and Hermione were left alone. They sat on the couch, chatting excitedly about anything but the true sources of their enthusiasm.

At 11:30, Ginny gave Hermione an excited hug and left, wishing her the best of luck. Hermione finished up an essay she had for Herbology, knowing she would need to trash it later (her handwriting was shaky, and she wasn't quite sure it made sense), but it gave her something to do until midnight when she slipped out into the hall.

Easing through the shadows, she quickly came upon the Room of Requirement. She knocked softly, and then entered when she was sure no one else was in the hall. The room was the one they usually had now, the same one she and Draco had fallen asleep on the couch in earlier that month. But now it had bright red rose petals splattered all over the ground, leaving vibrant spots on the black carpet.

The room was warm, so Hermione took off her robe and put it over a chair with Draco's, leaving her in only her pajamas. She gently slipped off her shoes and tread gently on the red petals over to Draco, who took her up in his arms and kissed her lovingly. "Happy one month," she told him when he pulled back.

"To you too," he murmured. Draco took her hand in his, and covered her eyes with his other. He led her over to somewhere and dropped her hand briefly to fumble with something (a doorknob?) before he took them out into a blast of cold air and let his other hand drop from her eyes.

"Oh, Draco, it's beautiful," she said. It was only a balcony, but it overlooked the beautiful Hogwarts grounds, and she could see a gibbous moon off in the distance. Moonlight shimmered on the disturbed surface of the lake as it still rained near them. Draco wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and she tilted her head to lean it against his jaw and wrapped her hands around his.

Hermione wished they could have stayed in that moment forever, but she was there in a pair of shorts and Draco's tank top and was soon shivering despite Draco's body heat behind her. Grinning, Draco plucked her from the ground and held her close to him. She snuggled up to his warmth as he carried her back inside, shutting the door behind them with his foot.

Draco plopped her down on the couch and before he lay down beside her like he had seemingly so long ago, he went to his robe and pulled from the pocket a black rose, which he handed to Hermione with a soft kiss. Hermione held the budding blossom close to her and smiled softly as he lay down next to her. "Hey, Draco, did your mum ever get that invisibility cloak?"

"Yeah. She got a little mad at me for asking for one, but when I explained that my Lady had asked it of me, she quickly changed her attitude about it," he told her exasperatedly.

Hermione frowned slightly, but said, "Good. Now you can come, and we can all be happy." She paused before asking something that had been bothering her, "Draco, do you like your mum?"

"Not really. Why?" he answered casually.

"Just wondering. Why don't you like her?" Hermione asked. Narcissa hadn't seemed _that _bad when she'd taken her shopping.

"I think you'd have to live with her to understand. She's very manipulative, my mum is. And then when she does something she shouldn't, she always finds some way to lay the blame on someone else," he answered, then began to name specific examples for Hermione. They talked long into the night about various things before Hermione fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

"C'mon, Hermione," Ginny laughed. "That little dress shop in Hogsmeade brought in a ton of catalogues for us to order from, and the best part is that they're bringing in a lady who's really good with illusions so we can try on illusions of the dresses we want to see!" And then, in a quieter voice, she added, "So what are you two going to wear to the ball? You guys at least need complementary colors!"

"Hm…we talked about it on the twenty-second, and I think the decision was that he was going to wear black robes, and I was going to wear either a dark red or a dark green," Hermione said slightly nervously. They couldn't be too matched, because they weren't technically going together, even though they really were. This was one of the times when the fact that their relationship was a secret got in the way. In fact, Hermione couldn't think of many times when it didn't.

Ginny looked dubious, "If you say so. I think you should probably go with white though, that would be better. Black and white are more complementary than the colors you just listed off," she said. Hermione shrugged, honestly not caring too much.

"Are you two going in costume, or just in robes? I'm hearing about a lot of costumes, people seem to think that that's a better idea," Ginny confided.

Hermione made a funny noise in the back of her throat. "I'm…not really sure, actually." Ginny gave her a hard look as they finally got down the last staircase to the Entrance Hall, which was absolutely packed with people trying to find dresses, dress robes, or anything imperative for their costumes.

Ginny pushed Hermione off towards the dungeons instead. "Come back later when you two have figured out what you want," she whispered with a wink. Sighing, Hermione went off to find Draco. As soon as she was out of sight of the entrance hall, she transfigured her robes into something vaguely cloak-like so that she wouldn't draw too much attention and went to the Slytherin common rooms.

"You," she snapped at a third year, who instantly turned weak to her will. "Is Malfoy here?" The boy nodded and shakily pointed to the back of the room. When he thought she wasn't looking, he sneered at her (showing off for his friends), and she gave him a semi-gentle smack. "If I catch you doing that again, I'll rip off your face," she said threateningly. He nodded guiltily and she dropped him down onto the floor as Draco stood up to see what the commotion was. "We need to talk," she told Draco.

Looking slightly confused, Hermione took Draco down the hall and shoved him into an empty room. It reminded her somewhat of the dank and dark prison cell she'd been pushed into over a month ago. She smiled at the memory of their first kiss. "Oh, it's _you,_" he said, finally understanding. She rolled her eyes at him and locked the door behind them.

"Ginny was bugging me about our costumes, or lack thereof," she said. "What exactly _are _we going as? The ball is only a few weeks away, on the 24th, and here it is already the 6th!"

"Hm…" Draco mumbled in thought. "We have to have masks, at the very least, no matter what our costumes are so that no one recognizes us. And…ah, hm…" he trailed off in thought again. "An angel, for you, would be beautiful," he told her.

"And ironic," she added.

"But I don't know what I would be. A devil?" he murmured in thought, then laughed at the look on her face, "No? Okay then, something else…"

"Oh, Draco," Hermione said faintly, looking off into space. "There was something I read once…" With a snap of her jaw, she yanked herself back from her memory. "Meet me at the library in ten minutes. We need to find that book." Hermione dashed out of the room and hurried up to the library, mentally thanking herself for finding that passageway from the Entrance Hall, and that today was an even day. She skipped up the steps, being sure to remember the pattern, and at the top of the stairs turned right to find herself right outside the library.

Going to the back, she pulled several books on Wizard Mythology from the shelves on the way. Wizard Mythology was a bit before the early Egyptian civilizations, and several additional tomes had been found nearly ten years ago and translated recently. It was in these recent ones that she searched frantically through, looking for a specific chapter that she remembered…

"Aha," she murmured at the very end of the second book, which was analyzing the translation rather than being the actual translation. "'An angel wingéd with black and forever lurking in shadow, long blade in hand' refers to what they believed to be the 'angel of death'. This Angel of Death is similar to the more modern version of the 'grim reaper', or in the muggle mythological times, the gods of hell. According to the scripts, this Angel of Death carried around a sort of Egyptian long sword, made of beaten bronze with an ivory handle, and would use this to kill his 'victims'. According to the texts, the Angel of Death wore long, flowing black robes and also a stone mask, which he would take off just before serving the deathblow to his prey. Translations imply that this Angel of Death was male.

"According to texts, only one person ever managed to evade the final stroke of the Angel's blade. The closest translation to her name was 'Ishtar', as that part of the text was severely damaged. According to the writings, she 'talked with this Angel and convinced him through charm to spare her life', and later was said that she, too became immortal as he and was often referred to as his wife."

"Which part are we looking at?" a voice breathed in her ear. Hermione jumped, having forgotten herself in the book. She pointed to the passage, and he read it over her shoulder while she kept a lookout for other students. "So…you want me to be this Angel of Death?"

Hermione shrugged. "It was an idea."

"Okay then. Sounds good. Now, you'd better be off to find the Weasley girl before she goes mad." Ignoring his slightly rude tone at Ginny's name, Hermione stood and gathered the other two books to put them away. "Ah…Hermione, how am I supposed to get wings?"

"Figure it out," she said with a smirk. He gave her a playful look of annoyance as she bounced off to find Ginny.

* * *

"Oh, Hermione, you look so great!" Ginny exclaimed, adjusting Hermione's dress a little more. "Or should I call you Ishtar?" Hermione smoothed out the top of the dress, which was all white, with a tight top half that went up into a high collar and was sleeveless. Black ribbon tied up the back corset-style, and the skirt of the dress was long and pure white, with several layers that flared wide whenever Hermione moved. She had looked up Ishtar many times earlier in December, to try and find out what she would wear. At last she found a picture of Ishtar and the Angel of Death, and she had shown Draco so that they could get it right.

Ginny dusted her arms and face with something that shimmered in the light before doing Hermione's makeup in pale shades of silver. The redhead fixed a strand of Hermione's hair, which she had cut (and taken out the red streaks from) to a little above shoulder-length for the event. The girls had spent only a half hour straightening it before Ginny had lightened it to a dirty blonde and gently curled the ends upward to add some flare to it. Hermione had only allowed her hair to be cut because of the reassurance that she could use a growing charm to grow it out again after.

The final touch was a simple white mask to match her costume. It was small, only going across her eyes and nose and the top halves of her cheeks and held in place with a sticking spell. But it obscured her face enough that she would not be recognized, and she was satisfied. Hermione donned a long black cloak and slunk through the common room to go somewhere else to wait until the dance began. No one paid her any attention as she slipped through the halls and went to the Slytherin common room.

The Slytherin common room was nearly as empty as hers had been, with everyone running around trying to get their costumes on. Hermione considered sitting down to wait for Draco, but none of the chairs looked too inviting, so she decided to go up to his room and help him with his costume. She walked up the staircase carefully, still slightly unsteady on her high heeled shoes. It had been a pity she couldn't wear more comfortable shoes, but the dress had been a few inches too big, and instead of hemming it, she had opted to just wear shoes to get up that high.

Hermione knocked loudly, not wanting to walk in on anyone changing. The door opened a crack, and Blaise asked, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Let me in," she ordered. Blaise's eyes narrowed, and Draco came to stand behind him, wondering at the fuss. Hermione locked eyes with Draco, and he looked slightly shocked. "Well, are you going to make me stand out here?"

Draco recovered from his shock. "No, Ishtar. Come on in." He gave Blaise a meaningful look, and he dropped off to the side. Hermione entered the room and shut the door with a click behind her. Draco handed her an open book, and she memorized the spell on the page as he pulled on a black wife beater that was exactly the same as the one Hermione slept in. She dropped the book back on the bed as Draco draped a long, black cross between a robe and a cloak over his arm, and then took from beneath his bed, a sword nearly half big as him and a thin stone mask.

"Let's go," he said. Hermione first shed her cloak and folded it on his bed, loving the way his breath caught at the sight of her without it, before she followed him down into the common room, which was nearly empty. "Ah…we can do it here, I suppose," he said, slightly nervous. She gave him a strange look at the quaver in his voice, then shrugged. "Can you…can you try to get it over with fast?"

"I'll try," she promised him, and sealed it with a kiss. He pulled her closer to him and deepened the kiss. She drew back breathless and chided him slightly, saying they really needed to get him in costume. He turned his back to her, and she could see the slits he had already made in his shirt for his wings. Praying it wouldn't hurt much, Hermione did the spell, drawing her wand across the skin that was exposed by the tears in the shirt.

Instantly, Draco was on the ground screaming as his skin rippled under his shirt. His fingers clutched compulsively at the stone floor as people came from all around to see what the commotion was. With an earsplitting screech from him, the skin of his back stretched taught—too taught—and then it ripped, and two huge black wings grew from the skin, glistening slightly with blood.

And abruptly, the screaming stopped, and Draco lay panting on the ground. The other Slytherins all held their breath in amazement, and even Hermione's breath caught at the beauty of the wings. The spell was even to make them directly proportional to the person's size, so if Draco didn't hurt too much, and he wanted to, he may actually be able to get off the ground (though it wouldn't be very high), though it would take a lot of strength, as humans have too much mass to fly. Draco stood shakily, and leaned heavily on a table.

Careful of her own dress and its perfect whiteness, Hermione conjured a cloth and gently began the task of wiping the blood from Draco's back and wings. She was surprised to find that the skin of his back wasn't bleeding too much, as the wings cut off most of the blood that would normally be pouring from cuts that big. Draco experimentally flexed his wings and winced slightly, but Hermione thought he didn't look like it hurt too badly.

Finished with the backs of his wings, Hermione stepped around to the front, only then realizing just how big the wings were. They were huge, big enough to support a human's size if not the human's mass. Draco grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the circle of his arms, and his wings furled around them to obscure them from view as he kissed her. "You are beautiful," he told her afterward.

Hermione grinned up at him. "You are too," she murmured. He smirked and gave her one last kiss before letting her go.

"We need to finish," he said. She did a cursory check of the front of his wings (they didn't seem too bloodied-up), and then she took his cloak-like robe to see he'd already been prepared for this. The clothing was already ripped from mid-shoulders to the ground so that it could be draped around his wings without a problem. She pulled it on him, careful to get it around his wings and arranged at the bottom so you couldn't see his jeans through the slits. With her wand, she mended the item from under the wings to the ground while Draco did up the front of it.

Hermione picked up the mask, and was amazed at how thin it was. It was slim and perfectly carved, looking a lot like granite (was it granite?). The mask settled on his face perfectly, and Hermione had the sneaking feeling that he'd had it custom made for this event. She used the same sticking charm that she had used on her own so that it stayed, covering his face from his eyebrows to the tip of his nose and most of his cheeks. She pulled his hood up, so that it cast a shadow over most of his face, and he took slung his sword onto his back in a baldric.

They were finished. Hermione gave both of them a glance over, to see if there was anything to fix and ended up just smoothing out her dress again nervously. She could see that Draco was nervous too, as his wings twitched nervously. If anyone realized who they were, it would be all over.

Draco sat carefully on a small wooden stool, and Hermione arranged her skirt and knelt beside him, leaning her head on his leg. "You cut your hair," Draco said, running it through his fingers. "And lightened it," he added a second later.

Hermione nodded. "Yeah. Ishtar was supposed to have short dirty blond hair. I know this is a little darker than that, but it works. I'm going to put it back the way it was after tonight, though."

"Really? I think it looks good like this," Draco told her, fluffing it slightly.

Hermione snorted. "It looks good now, after a half hour of primping and fiddling with it. Then again," she said, tilting her head to the side in thought, "If I don't have to cut it again, it should only take about 15-20 minutes. Maybe I will keep it like this, if you're good," she teased. "But, actually, that wouldn't work. Then people would know that I was Ishtar, and most of the Slytherins already know who you are, and I'm sure you and your mystery date will be all around school before long. Best I stay a mystery," she told him.

Draco agreed reluctantly, and suddenly a lot of girls came pouring down the stairs. It was only then that Hermione realized boys had been slowly leaking into the common room the whole time, and now that all the girls were done, the ball would obviously be starting soon. She stood and brushed herself off while Draco did the same, taking her hand in his.

"You ready?" he breathed in her ear. She smiled and squeezed his hand excitedly and they edged out of the common room. His wings fluffed themselves nervously as they joined the crowd waiting outside the Great Hall. There was a ring of people around them, looking at them in awe and amazement at Draco's wings, and everyone kept their distance. Draco pulled her close and wrapped an arm around her waist protectively, and she could feel his anxiety in his tight grip.

She felt the unease seep into herself too. If someone figured out who they were, they were in big trouble. She had stupidly overlooked the impact their costumes would have on everyone. Having huge black wings was not exactly the most inconspicuous thing in the world. This was the first time they were out together as a couple in public, and they were both feeling the strain of it.

The doors yawned open before them, and everyone streamed into the Hall. Draco and Hermione hung back, entering last to give enough room for Draco's wings.

The dance had begun.

After nearly two hours, both Hermione and Draco were finally relaxed. They would be able to pull this off, and each were comfortable with that. The two of them danced often, and the whispers followed them. She could hear Draco's name a lot, as the Slytherins confirmed the identity of the winged figure. But no one seemed to know who she was, and she smirked at that and danced on. Always, it seemed like it was only the two of them on the dance floor, and Hermione reflected that it may have been because of the space most of the other couples gave them.

* * *

Dumbledore announced the last dance of the night. Draco pulled Hermione away from her animated chat with Ginny by the slightest touch on her arm. Hermione grinned up at him, and Draco felt his heart ache for her as she took his hand. He led her onto the dance floor as the music began to play.

Draco would have to tell her by the end of the song. It was then or never. His hands shook nervously, but he didn't think Hermione noticed as she rested her head on his shoulder. Before he knew it, he was already hearing the song winding up. He furled his wings, which had wrapped, seemingly of their own accord, around himself and Hermione.

It was time to tell her. He didn't really know how to approach the subject, so he decided to be blunt. "Hermione," he whispered hoarsely, and she looked up at her name. "I…I think I'm falling in love with you."

* * *

"Hermione," she looked up sharply at her name, worried someone might have heard. But there was no one around them, as usual. Draco continued, "I…I think I'm falling in love with you." These were the last words she had ever expected to hear from him.

"WHAT?" she shrieked. All heads turned to watch. She took a step backward, away from him, her eyes wide with fear and filling with tears. "But…you can't," she said. The tears broke loose, and coursed down her face under her mask. "You just can't," she said, taking a few more steps back.

The whole Great Hall was watching this episode avidly. Hermione spun on her heel with a sob and began to walk slowly to the doors. After a few paces, she broke into a job and then a full-blown run, which turned into a sprint. She slammed into the doors and as they slowly opened against her weight, pulled off her run-impairing high heels.

Clutching her shoes in her hand, Hermione ran aimlessly across Hogwarts grounds. When she slowed to a walk, she began to analyze her reaction. _You don't think he should love you because you love him. No, not because you love him (you don't love him), _she told herself, _but because you two should be enemies. But you love him too, and you're just mad because he may love you back._

_But why would I be mad at him, then? _Hermione thought in confusion. A small voice in the back of her mind said, _Because you're scared. _Brushing that thought off, she figured it must just be because she was in shock at hearing that from him. Suddenly, she realized what she was standing in front of.

It was a dragon, a Hungarian Horntail if the silhouette it cast against the light of the moon was any clue.

"Oh, my," Hermione mumbled under her breath. She heard a startled gasp and a muttered curse, as well as a whispered comment. She turned slightly, keeping the dragon at the corner of her eye to see Draco standing there, and another person running back to the castle. Meeting her eyes, he summoned his broomstick, and Hermione tried to see just where they were.

"The Weasley girl has gone to get help," Draco told her as he looked in awe at the dragon. Hermione was dismayed to see just how far she had strayed from the castle. They were very far away. It would be a while before Ginny got back. Harry and Ron came wheezing out the darkness and saw the dragon too.

"Summon your brooms and keep the dragons busy," Hermione called as she pulled up her skirts and struggled to get her wand out from where she'd strapped it to her leg. "We can't let them get to the castle." The dragon edged closer, breathing a brilliant spout of flame into the air.

Draco's broom zoomed there out of nowhere, and Hermione mounted in front of him, refusing to be left on the ground. Draco's wings twitched nervously until he wrapped them around the broom as they flew. Hermione felt a rush of adrenaline as Draco swerved them away from the hot trail of smoke from the dragon's nostrils. In the distance, she could see another two dragon shapes looming in the darkness. Faster and faster they went, avoiding the head and the tail of the creature.

Hermione saw Harry and Ron break away from the dragon she and Draco were working on, and saw them head for the two she'd seen in the distance. As Draco dodged another blast of fire, Hermione saw even more dragons coming from the other side. She desperately hoped Ginny had made it to the castle and was on her way back.

Hermione saw the horned tail come close, and she shot a spell at the Hungarian Horntail's eyes and the tail went berserk, missing her and Draco by a long shot. Draco hovered just above the dragon's eyes, away from danger for a moment. She risked a glance to Harry, who had two dragons now, and Ron, who still had one. She saw that another dragon was nearing them, and before she could point it out, they were off and flying again.

Suddenly, Hermione realized why the dragons were so eager to attack but wouldn't fly after them and give chase. They had no wings. The wings must've been removed. _But by whom? _She wondered. _No wonder the dragons are attacking us, _she thought, _to be de-winged must be painful. _Draco circled the dragon's head unevenly.

Hermione looked back toward the castle, and felt a flare of hope when she saw Ginny coming, leading the staff. She looked around to see that Ron was already coming in, but Harry was still too busy with his dragons to get away, going in circles around one while both lashed at him furiously. Hermione frantically pointed to Harry, and Draco obligingly took them in that direction. As they neared, Hermione saw one of the dragons rear and pull its tail back. And then suddenly Harry was next to them, and Hermione gestured frantically to the ground. Getting the hint, Harry began to go down, and Draco leveled down with him.

Hermione glanced behind them just in time to see a huge, spiked tail nearing her. Draco's wings wrapped around her just as a blinding pain hit her, and she felt nothing. And then she was falling, and she landed softly somewhere, with something warm on her good side.

She opened her eyes—she hadn't realized they were closed—and saw Draco. Those once-cold gray eyes were warm with love and pain. Tears ran down his cheeks both under and over his mask, and it was then that she noticed her own tears.

A wry smiled curved her lips, but it turned to a grimace of pain as she remembered to breathe, the timeless moment over. She coughed and felt a metallic-tasting liquid enter her mouth. Blood. She looked back up at Draco and knew she needed to tell him before it was too late. She wheezed in a breath and said, "I'm sorry, for betraying," she coughed violently and wished she could just die rather than live in this pain. "For betraying you. I don't want," she suppressed a cough, which hurt a little less than actually coughing. "Don't want to be bad anymore." She wheezed in, and felt the blood enter her pierced lung. "I want to be good now." His tears dripped on her cheek, and she reached up to wipe them away, falling limp in his arms halfway through the gesture.

* * *

_Your arms around me tight  
Everything, it felt so right  
Unbreakable, like nothin' could go wrong  
Now I can't breathe  
No, I can't sleep  
I'm barely hanging on_

—Kelly Clarkson "Behind These Hazel Eyes"

* * *

**No it is not over!**

Now, questions:

**Jondy13: **Er…I actually don't know if he could have gotten an invisibility cloak from the Room of Requirement, and because I don't know, I decided to have him get one the regular way. That might have worked, though. Um…I really don't think _anyone _is going to be having sex in my story, but if a couple does end up doing such it won't be graphic.

**Alianne, **it's fun for me to answer all your questions! Feel free to ask any at any time, and I'll answer them (so long as it doesn't give too much away)!


	15. Chapter 14: Explosions

CHAPTER 14: Explosions

Hermione's body lay limp in Draco's arms. "No, no, no, no. This isn't happening. Wake up. Wake up!" Draco yelled. His wings flared out wide at his sides and flapped in his panic. But then suddenly Dumbledore was in front of him. He ran a couple of quick spells before having Draco take Hermione up to the Infirmary while all the rest of the staff did something about the dragons.

Draco lurched to his feet and hurried across the lawns, praying that Hermione wasn't dead. He loved her. She couldn't die on him, she just couldn't! Students paused in the halls as he walked through them, and they stared at him and at the bloody girl in his arms. He was too distracted to care as he hurried her up to the Hospital Wing. "Madam Pomfrey!" he called as soon as he was in there. "HELP!"

The woman came running out of her little office and took one look at the scene. "Put her on the bed, there. What happened?"

"Dragons…a Hungarian Horntail got her. Will she be okay? Oh, please tell me she'll be okay!" he said frantically.

Madam Pince looked him over. "Looks like it got to you too," she said. He looked over, and saw one of his wings had a huge tear in it. He vaguely remembered trying to shield them with his wings…the spikes must have gone through his wing and hit Hermione. Draco hadn't noticed, and just gave the witch a worried shrug that she missed (she was too interested in Hermione). "Oh, dear. This is bad. The spike pierced her lung and broke several of her ribs. Her upper arm is shattered, and it looks like her jaw is broken too." Draco's wings rustled apprehensively as he went to the other side of her hospital bed and took her good hand in his, looking down at her mangled form.

"Please, don't die on me, love. Don't," he whispered to her prone form as Madam Pomfrey bustled away to get some supplies. His wings were caught in the curtains, but he didn't care as he held Hermione's hand tightly. He didn't care that she wanted to be good again, although it was shocking. "Oh, love, if you want to, then I will be too, I don't care, just live. Live through this, please!"

Madame Pomfrey came and pushed him out, declaring that "the girl" needed rest. Draco didn't mind, and he stomped off to find Weasley—they had business to do. He found her in Orlando's room, crying alone on the professor's couch. Obviously, she was waiting for him to come back from the dragons. "Is she okay? What's happening? Oh, this is all wrong!" the Weasley girl wailed, throwing herself at him.

Draco gave her a hug, and said, "I don't know. But you can't let the Weasel—sorry, Weasley—and Potter know that's her in there. They probably already know who I am, so if they know that she's the one that got hurt, they'll know that we were at the dance together. No one can know who she is."

Through her tears, the youngest Weasley nodded miserably, and he gave her a small squeeze. His respect for the girl grew, if only a little, especially when she came up from his chest with a determined look on her face and nodded. "No one will know," she said firmly as she stepped back from him. "I'm going to go and set it up then. I need to arrange things, stories," she muttered to herself as she walked out of the room. Draco followed her, shutting the door on an empty room behind him.

* * *

"Hermione isn't feeling well, so she's not going to the ball," Ginny mumbled under her breath. That's what she'd told Harry and Ron about why she wasn't going. "Well, Hermione," the redhead told herself, "You're about to get far sicker. Sick enough to be out for a few days, but not quite sick enough to be going to Madam Pomfrey. Or," Ginny thought, "you could be sick enough to go to Madam Pomfrey, but you heard about that girl and about McGonagall, so you didn't want to be just another person on her hands. Yes, I think that might work. Oh, and you don't want to be in contact with anyone because…you don't want to get everyone else sick too!" Ginny smiled at her own brains, perfectly aware that she'd carried on a conversation with herself.

Perfecting the small details of the story, Ginny headed up to Gryffindor tower, determined to save her friend's ass once more.

* * *

Draco ran into Blaise in their dormitory. "Blaise, get these damned wings off me," he growled at the boy, flipping through the book to the right page and handing it to him. Having seen him earlier carrying the contorted body of a young girl, Blaise looked at him understandingly and used the counter spell. The feeling of the wings melting back into his skin was far less painful than having them grown. With muttered thanks, he took off his baldric and sword and the long cloak-like robe before pulling on his invisibility cloak over his tank top and jeans.

Draco ghosted his way to the Hospital Wing with a sort of fierce determination. He would stay with Hermione all night. It was a little reckless, a little stupid, and a little risky, but he didn't care. He was not going to leave her side, what with her current condition.

Draco paused at the door before easing it open. "…know who she is, Poppy?" Dumbledore's voice was saying.

"No," Madam Pomfrey said, her distress obvious. "He left before I could ask him, and also before I could get a look at that wing of his. I don't know which spell was used to get those wings, but a few of them make the wings of your actual flesh, so his body would sustain the damage…" her voice trailed off.

"What's the damage, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked quietly, and Draco almost didn't hear him, so he took his chances and slipped into the room. The two teachers were talking behind Hermione's bed curtains, so they wouldn't have seen the door open. He wedged himself between the wall and the curtain right outside of her bed so that he could listen closer.

"Albus, it's bad. Her right lung is pierced in two places, and she's got two fractured ribs and a fractured jaw. Her shoulder, upper arm, and another rib are shattered. Four puncture holes in her back, two came out her chest, looks like the one that broke her jaw just hit her and didn't go through anything. The first three did all the damage I listed off, the fourth didn't hit any major organs and is farther down. She's lost a lot of blood, too much to recoup quickly enough to be sure of her recovery. She may not make it through the night."

"But there's a chance."

"Yes, Albus. But it doesn't look good. I'll do everything I can to make her well." Draco heard the promise in her voice, but also the underlying tone of despair, and hoped that Hermione would get better.

"Thank you, Poppy. Do you need my help?"

"No, Albus. I can manage her. Even if you helped, it wouldn't change anything. Go and rest. I can see you're tired from fighting off dragons."

"Thank you, again, Poppy. Don't forget about Minerva or Severus, either, Poppy, but they're stable enough for you to deal with this one first." Dumbledore left, sweeping out of the room, and Draco thought he looked older than he ever had before. Silently, he slipped through the curtain to Hermione's bed. Standing well out of the way while Madame Pomfrey bustled around, Draco nearly gasped when she pulled back the sheet of the bed. The damage in reality was far worse than Madame Pomfrey's medical list. The side of Hermione's dress had been pulled off to give the witch a better view of the injuries, so Draco could see everything far more clearly than he wished.

There were two ragged holes in her chest, one up near the shoulder where it must have come through the bone, and one down through where Hermione's lung would be. The skin had been healed with a healing spell, and he could see the scars. The right side of her jaw was a jumble of unhealed bruises. Madam Pomfrey had a look on her face that as good as said that Hermione was doomed as she carefully rolled the girl over so that she could look at her back.

Draco could barely stifle his gasp this time. Nearly all of Hermione's back was covered in bruises, and he could see the ragged entrance wounds the spikes had made. Madame Pomfrey had already healed these too, and he could see they were much bigger than the ones on the front, being about two, two and a half inches in all directions. It was a miracle that her dress hadn't been pulled back quite enough to show her Dark Mark. Hermione's irregular breath rattled the blood in her lungs, and Madam Pomfrey did a quick spell to fix that, before coaxing the girl into wakefulness with a another.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open, and then widened at all the pain she was in. "Drink this dear, it'll help." Hermione opened her mouth, and tears came to her eyes as Draco heard her jaw crack a little. Madam Pomfrey poured in the potion, and in quick succession, poured in another two. Draco thought they were probably for bone repairing, blood replenishing, and sleep, and it seemed he got at least the last one right as the older woman said, "Sleep well, dear." Hermione closed her eyes heavily.

After the witch had left, Draco crept onto the bed with Hermione and lay on her good side. It was just like all those times in the Room of Requirement, and he put his head lightly on her good shoulder, curling his body up next to hers, but instead of wrapping his arm around her, he took her hand in his own.

Draco did not get much sleep that night. It wasn't because he was worried about someone finding him—he was using the invisibility cloak as a blanket, so he was still unseen—but he was just too worried about Hermione to sleep. He just lay there awake the whole night, wishing with all his heart that she wouldn't die on him.

In the morning, he shifted so that Madam Pomfrey could get to Hermione without him getting in the way. As if on cue, the witch came in and bustled about, and Draco began to play a careful game of keep away with her. Hermione stirred, and he paused in his game to watch her. But she did nothing else, and he went back to dodging Madam Pomfrey, who seemed, exasperatingly enough, to need to move around everywhere.

In the afternoon, the redhead came by and gave Madam Pomfrey Hermione's pajama's, saying that it was an extra pair of her own, and that she had heard how no one knew who the girl was. According to her story, she'd felt bad for the girl, because since nobody know her, there wouldn't be anyone bringing an extra pair of clothes for her. Draco felt a rush of gratitude for the small Weasel, and his respect for her went up even higher.

Madam Pomfrey came in and dressed Hermione (Draco turned his back—he didn't feel right about watching her get changed) and then walked away. Draco took up his vigil on the bed once again. He was at the point past being tired, the point where you don't even feel the need for sleep anymore and just sit there, wide awake. He was at the point past the need for food, the point where you don't even feel hungry anymore. All he needed was Hermione.

Such passed a nail-bitingly horrific three days for Draco. Every day was the same, though he began to sleep a little more during the nights. Ginny came sometimes, usually about two times a day to bring him food. Hermione was pale, far too pale, he was seeing. Her bruises seemed to take too long to heal, although surely they looked a little older than they had that first night. And finally, during the evening of the third day, Hermione woke up.

Draco was at her side as soon as her eyes slowly fell open, and she looked around in horror before sitting up, terrified. "Shh, Hermione. It's okay, it's okay. You're alive." At his voice, though, she looked uneasy, and he realized he was still under his cloak. Checking that Madam Pomfrey wasn't there, he took it off to show her that it was just him. Hermione looked reassured, and very, very tired as she leaned into the hand that cupped her good cheek.

"Draco," she murmured comfortably while he put the cloak back on.

"I'm here, love. It's okay. Just sleep," he told her, curling up beside her. She did sleep, and even Draco was restful, though careful not to go back to sleep himself. Madam Pomfrey would be doing her nightly rounds soon.

As predicted, Madam Pomfrey came soon, and Draco didn't miss her grin at Hermione's improvement. Hermione's eyes fluttered open, even, and the older witch smiled down at her and told her to sleep again, she needed her rest. Hermione frowned and her hand reached out gently before she did, and he took it in his own. Content, she fell into sleep again.

After Madam Pomfrey left, Draco curled up at Hermione's side, as was becoming routine, and he slept well for the first time in the better part of a week.

* * *

Hermione woke up slowly, and all her aches and bruises clamored for her attention. She groaned slightly as she tried to sit up, looking for Draco. He was all she really wanted to see. She heard something on her good side, the side that miraculously didn't cry out to her in pain, but she saw…nothing. Dismayed, Hermione sank back onto her pillows, but then she felt a hand in her own.

Suddenly, Draco's face was in front of her. Had she any energy, she would have been startled, but she didn't and wasn't, and he smiled down on her. She noticed how tired and pale he looked. "Draco, are you okay?" she asked hoarsely before realizing how stupid she must sound, being obviously in far worse condition.

"I'm more worried about you," he confided, pushing a strand of short hair out of her eyes. She groaned in response, and he looked both amused and concerned. "That bad, huh?" Hermione just nodded slightly. "Rest now, love. I'll be here when you wake up, even if you don't see me," he told her, before brushing his lips against her own and pulling his hood back up. But this time, she could feel his presence at her side and was comforted enough to fall into sleep with a small smile.

* * *

As her fourth day at the Hospital Wing came to a close, Hermione was reluctantly let out. Only a large amount of complaints about being cooped up in there and relentless chatter had allowed her to get out of there. The second she was out, Draco wrapped her up in his invisibility cloak and carried her up into the Room of Requirement, ignoring all the odd looks people gave him at his invisible package.

After getting Hermione comfortably settled on the couch, Draco asked her what she would wish for. Giggling, she told him that she _was _a little hungry. In an instant, he was hounding her about what she would like to eat, and she only managed to get him to stop after giving him a specific list.

She lay in the familiar room and thought about all the times they'd been in there together. Tenderly, she stroked the dress she'd worn to the ball. It was currently pretty beaten up, a while side ripped off by Madame Pomfrey, and the side (now a separate piece) was riddled with holes and red with blood. Her shoes had been lost somewhere on the grounds, but Hermione's mask lay on top of the ripped and bloodied remains of the dress. Somehow, Draco had gotten her pajamas from Gyffindor tower (Ginny?), and that was what she had come out of the infirmary wearing. Smiling slightly to herself, she wished a book into existence on the table, then picked it up and began to read it while he was gone.

Draco came back some time later with a tray of food under his cloak. Hermione set the book down and they ate in silence together for a long time. Finally full of food (though Draco was still eating—Hermione was surprised at how much he could pack away), Hermione asked, "How long was I out?"

"It's been…" Draco paused, as if thinking. "Well, if you count the night you went in, five days. Otherwise, it's just been four days. It's currently the 28th."

"How long were you there?" she asked.

"The whole time you were. Except for a little bit the first night. You know, that Weasley girl isn't too bad."

"You mean you were there the whole time I was except for meals," Hermione said. It wasn't a question. "And her name's Ginny." Draco just shrugged, not caring.

"No, no. I mean that I was there the whole time. I didn't go to meals."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You mean you haven't eaten for four days!"

"So what's the big deal? I wanted to be with you," he said, scooting a little closer and pulling her into his lap. She winced as her bruises and sore muscles complained.

"That's not healthy," Hermione chided him, albeit her tones were gentle. "You could have collapsed, or something." She yawned, and winced as her jaw protested. Snuggling up close to him, they both were unsurprised when she quickly fell asleep.

* * *

It took Draco nearly ten minutes to rearrange Hermione in his arms so that he could carry her without waking her up. But he finally managed it and walked over to a bed that had abruptly appeared and tucked her in on it. "Sleep well, love. I have business to do."

Knowing she wouldn't wake up, Draco pulled on his cloak and left the room, locking the door behind him. He trailed through the halls until he finally found Orlando's room, and he knocked slightly after taking off his cloak. He knew it was a bit late for house calls, but he really didn't know how to get in touch with the Weasley—_Ginny, _he corrected himself slightly—any other way. The door swung open, and Orlando stood there looking tired.

"Sorry if I woke you, but I need to get in touch with your girlfriend," Draco told him. Orlando nodded sleepily.

"Can I just give you the password to Gryffindor tower?" he said with a yawn. "I'm trusting you not to use this against me, too."

"Promise," Draco said.

"How'd you know?"

"Know what?" Draco asked, bewildered.

"That's the password. Promise. Well, actually it's 'promise of a rose' but it's all the same. Hey, I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm actually really tired."

"Oh, right. I'll go then. Thanks, Professor."

"It's Orlando, and goodnight. Oh, hey, how is she?" Orlando asked, looking genuinely concerned.

"She's sleeping right now. I need to sneak her back into Gryffindor tower, somehow. Thanks for your help!"

When the door was closed, he put his invisibility cloak back on and headed up to Gryffindor tower. He'd heard several tales of a fat lady and a pink dress, so that's what he looked for. The portrait was sleeping, so he coughed loudly until she woke up. "Promise of a rose," he told her. With an annoyed look at what she must have thought was his general direction (it was actually nowhere near him), she swung open.

Draco walked in and was envious at the comfortable feel of the place. But, in his own way, he longed for the cold and harsh interior of his own common room. He walked in and looked around. Ginny was nowhere to be seen, so he picked a meek-looking first year girl and picked her up, pushing her up the stairs. The blonde looked terrified, and he growled in her ear, "Go get me Ginny Weasley, the fifth year." She nodded and dashed up the steps, looking petrified.

A few minutes later, Ginny edged down the stairs. "Who called for me?" she asked, wand drawn.

"It was only me," he called up the stairs. Ginny still looked wary. "Ishtar's Angel," he said, going out on a limb and hoping that the young first year wouldn't figure out who he was.

"Oh, then it's only you," Ginny, said, putting her wand away.

"Of course. We need to talk. It's about her," he said, beginning to get annoyed. _Worthless Weasley. Why won't she just come down here?_

But then, as if reading his thoughts, she came down the rest of the stairs and reached for him. Instead of dodging her grasp, he leaned to her and allowed her to pull him to an empty couch. "She's out now," he told the redhead quietly. "And I want to bring her back tonight. You probably can't keep up the 'she's sick' charade much longer."

"No, I can't," she admitted, biting her lip. "The only way I managed to get it to last this long is because the boys can't get up into the girls' dormitories." Draco nodded, though he knew she couldn't see it as he was still invisible. "In fact, there were many nights I lay in Hermione's bed so that Lavender and Parvati wouldn't notice." She laughed at herself, "Many nights indeed. I mean every night."

"Yes, well, I'll get her back to you tonight. I'll take her out into the hall, and once the common room is empty, you can come out and let us in," he said, standing to go.

"Okay. It probably won't be for another hour though," she warned.

"We'll be there no matter what time you come." With that, he left. Hermione was sleeping peacefully when he came in, and for about fifteen minutes he lay at her side, looking at her.

But his thoughts were black.

After some time and a lot of moving around, he managed to get her limp form over his back without waking her. Although it was awkward to get the cloak on, he carried her piggy-back style down the hall and settled the two of them a little down the hall from the portrait of the fat lady. Nearly an hour passed before the portrait opened, and Ginny's face peered about cautiously. Draco grunted as he pulled himself out of a cramped position, and his knees protested from sitting on them so long. Hermione stirred and he froze until she settled back into sleep.

"I'm here," he told Ginny as he awkwardly got through the portrait hole. Ginny closed the door behind them, and though it took some struggling, he managed to get Hermione into his arms rather than on his back. The cloak fell off during this, and he and Ginny stood looking at each other. He was the first to look away. "Hermione. You've got to wake up." She stirred gently in his arms, and squirmed closer to him. "Wake up, Hermione. Mio, wake up!" Hermione's eyes finally opened slowly.

"Mmm…let me sleep, Draco, I'm so tired."

"Yes, but we're going to get you into your own bed first, and I can't go up there," he told her.

"Where are we, I thought we were…?" she asked in confusion.

"Gryffindor tower," Draco told her as he set her on her feet. Ginny gasped as she caught sight of the huge bruise that spread onto Hermione's shoulder and her jaw. He looked at the redhead sadly. "It was worse. Oh, it was far worse before. You should see her scars."

"Scars?" Hermione asked in confusion.

"Yes, scars. You've got four on your back, two on your chest."

"Oh," Hermione said uncomprehendingly.

"We should get you to bed," Ginny interjected, reaching out and linking her arm with Hermione's. "Goodnight, Malfoy, and thanks for bringing her." Knowing a dismissal when he heard one (although reluctant to follow it—how dare _she _order him around!), he left with his cloak slung over his arm.Hermione awoke, and without opening her eyes, she snuggled up to the warm body next to her. But something was wrong, she could tell. She just didn't know what. Hermione snuggled even closer to the person before she realized it.

It wasn't Draco. The body was too small to be Draco. Scrambling back fast enough to make herself hurt, she opened her eyes to see that it was Ginny lying next to her. "What…!" she asked.

"It's not what you think. I wanted to be here when you woke up, because I didn't want Lavender and Parvati to see you like that."

"Like what?" Hermione said coolly, still slightly annoyed that Ginny had slept with her, and that it hadn't been Draco.

"Well, you've got bruises all over you. And we can't just run a healing spell, because your body has already been worn out by healing your other wounds. So we need to use makeup to fix it, or at least conceal it," Ginny told her as she reached under the bed and pulled out a case that Hermione was sure was full of makeup. "And we need to get your hair back to normal."

Sitting down on the bed, Hermione closed her eyes and let Ginny apply the makeup to her. "There we go, now you can't even tell. Just be careful not to rub your face right there." Hermione let Ginny do the growing and coloring spells on her hair before she stood and slowly put on her robes straight over her pajamas, too exhausted to actually change. "Well, at least you look like you were sick. That was my excuse for why you weren't around. You were sick and didn't want to get everyone else sick too, so you just stayed up here in your bed all day. And I brought you food, which I actually snuck over to your boyfriend whenever I could."

"Um…thank you," Hermione said while she stretched carefully. "Can we go to breakfast now?" Ginny nodded, and together they walked back down to breakfast.

Harry and Ron jumped up and hugged Hermione. "You feeling better?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, because you look terrible," Ron told her truthfully. Ginny gave him a look that could have killed him, if he had known why she was glaring at him.

"I'm feeling a little better," Hermione said with a wry smile as she sat down and ate two pieces of toast.

She didn't know what a terrible day it would turn out to be.

After breakfast, Ron went off to go do some unintelligible thing, while Harry prowled the halls with Hermione. Ron caught up with him and gave a meaningful look to Harry. Suddenly they pulled her into a free classroom and pushed her into a chair.

"What's all this about?" she asked in annoyance. That had hurt. "What are you two—" Without warning, Harry poured something down her throat, and she swallowed it unthinkingly.

"What happened to you this summer?" Ron demanded.

Before she even thought to answer, she heard herself say, "My father had an affair, so I rebelled and did all kinds of bad things, and it was bad, so I went and got a new father, and—" Hermione forced her mouth closed with all her might. No. They couldn't know this.

"And…" Harry prompted uneasily as she realized that they'd just given her veritaserum.

"And what do you care?" she carefully sneered, although it seemed like her whole life story was about to spill from her lips at every word. "You two never cared about me."

"Hermione," Ron said, "We always cared about you."

"No," she whispered. It couldn't be true. They hadn't cared about her, that's why she was in this whole…_mess_! "No, you guys didn't, that's why I'm different, you guys didn't care, and so I went and I joined them, oh, yes I did. Because they at least care about me, unlike you guys," she said, slipping up slightly.

She had to force herself to think about something else not that. "Joined who?" Ron asked dumbly. But all Hermione had to do was look at the betrayal on Harry's face to understand that he knew.

"You unimaginable…! I can't believe you," Harry said. "Say it's not true."

"Oh, it's true, and you know what? The worst part is that you were the ones who betrayed me first. If I were gone, you two would be perfectly happy living on together, but if one of you was gone, it would mean the end of my world! So I switched the tables on you two, oh, yes I did!" she said gleefully.

But in her heart, she knew it was all wrong. All of it. Harry knelt down at her side and took her hand. "You're wrong, Hermione. We would have missed you terribly. But now…" Harry shook his head. "All you are is one of them."

"No, I'm better than just one of them, because I'm better. But I don't need you two anymore. You two were sneaking around this whole time making this potion, and you thought I didn't notice, but I did, I just didn't need you enough to care about finding out what you two were doing," she said, but the potion was slipping, and she was glad, because she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep up this charade of indifference and cruelty.

Her heart was breaking, but she didn't show it.

So Hermione just shut her mouth resolutely, and when the answers to barely-heard questions welled up in her throat, she remained firm in her mind and did not speak them. Veritaserum may be the most powerful truth potion, but there was a reason it wasn't used all over the place. It could be fought against, lied through, if the person had enough will to do it.

Harry and Ron eventually gave up and left, and it was only then that Hermione broke down. _How could I have ever thought that they didn't care about me? I was so stupid. Maybe I should come back to the light. I'd make the ultimate spy. And, anyways, I'm sick of being bad. Not like it did me any good anyway, what with the dragons. I can't believe he didn't tell me…_

Hermione realized that she was exactly correct. Voldemort had been behind the dragons, for sure. There was no other way. It made her annoyed that he had kept her in the dark about this plan, but she would talk to him about it later.

The rest of Hermione's day was a whirlwind of emotion. Her mind kept going back to Harry and Ron and the twin looks of betrayal on their faces. She sat under a tree in the snow-covered lawn for most of the day, just thinking. And, oh, was she happy that Draco was with her. He was the only thing keeping her going right now. If she didn't have him to hold onto, she didn't know what she would do.

Nearing dusk, Draco's eagle owl flew to her and dropped a letter in her lap. Nearly frozen stiff, she wiggled out of her gloves and opened it. "Usual place, 9 PM" was all it said. Hermione grinned to herself at the early time and finally went inside. She was getting cold in only her pajamas and a robe.

Hermione warmed herself by the fire in the common room, ignoring the betrayed looks Harry and Ron kept shooting her way. Dinner was an interesting affair, and Hermione sat as far away from everyone as possible, and talked to Neville about Herbology most of the time.

Settling into bed, Hermione continued to read Merlin's book that Draco had given her so long ago. It was her third reading of it now, and she really loved it. Happily putting it away, she slogged out of her room to go to the Room of Requirement, her betrayals lingering heavily on her now that she wasn't immersed in a book.

"You okay?" she asked Draco as she came in. He had a funny look on his face, and seemed jumpy.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Um…Hermione, I…"

"I'm so glad you're here, Draco, you won't believe the kind of day I've had."

"Actually, I kind of have something to tell you," he said, looking worried.

"Yes?"

"HermioneIthinkweshouldbreakup," he said in a rush.

Hermione blinked, then laughed. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch a word you just said," she said honestly.

Draco took a calming breath and said, "I think we should break up. I can't…I can't handle being with you any more. Not like this," he told her firmly. "I couldn't even visibly come and see you while you were in the hospital wing. I couldn't proudly show you to the world. We've had to sneak around and hide and crawl behind everyone else's backs this whole time!" Hermione blinked. "If you got hurt again, I couldn't wait at your bedside like a good boyfriend, hover nervously about you and wait for you to get better, carry you around like you're glass until everyone laughs at the silliness of it. I just can't. I'm sorry," he told her sincerely before he left.

Hermione plopped down on the couch. _What a day, _she thought. And then it sunk in. _Oh, god. He just broke up with me. It's not…we're not…it's over. No. No, this has to be a dream, a nightmare. Oh, Hermione, please wake up. Wake up!_

The tears fell softly on a pillow as she clutched it tightly to her chest. How could it possibly be over? Her world couldn't possibly have exploded twice in one day. It was actually _impossible _to have such a bad day. She cried most of the night, and when she wasn't crying, she just stared into the fire, thinking one thing over and over:

_This must be a dream.

* * *

__Seems like just yesterday  
You were a part of me  
I used to stand so tall  
I used to be so strong  
_

—Kelly Clarkson "Behind these hazel eyes"


	16. Chapter 15: Ruins

A/N: Okay, I've got a question for you all. When I uploaded the last chapter, I caught two typos while I was putting in the page breaks. So then I began to wonder about my other chapters, and I wanted to know if it would be worth my time to go back and edit my other chapters for spelling and grammar? Answer in reviews, please!

CHAPTER 15: Ruins

The sun slowly rose out the window. Hermione stared at it as it forced its way up through the earth, growing into a round ball of flame that was obscured by the clouds. It had been snowing nearly all night, and now Hermione walked out of the Room of Requirement and wandered blearily down the halls and walked outside into it.

The snow crunched under the soles of her thin sneakers, and she looked around as if lost. The world seemed to have an odd sense of fakeness, a dream-like quality, and Hermione stared at everything in interest. It all seemed new, unreal, as if she'd never seen snow before. She knelt in it, and seemed unable to feel the cold against her bare shins. Maybe this was just a bad dream after all.

Standing again, Hermione slogged over to the vague bulk of a rock near the frozen lake. Her shoes were soaked already, but she didn't really care as she spread herself out on the rock. The cold of the snow felt good against her bruises as it slowly melted and seeped through her robe and Draco's shirt that she was wearing. _I wear this shirt a lot, _she reflected. _And if this was all real, I'd have to give it back to him, but it's not and I don't! _Hermione snuggled into the thin shirt with a giggle that, in the silence, heightened the sense of unreality around the place.

Hermione lay on the rock for a long time, and after a while began to lose feeling in her limbs. It was only a dream, so it really didn't matter how long she lay there, even if she was only wearing her pajamas and a robe. Something red flickered at the edge of her vision, and she laughed at the moving speck, wanting to play with it. But eventually it came into focus and she saw it was Ginny.

"What are you doing in my dream?" she asked the girl as she sat up, not realizing how soaked she was.

"Hermione, we need to get you out of the cold."

Hermione laughed. "It's a dream, silly, nothing is real. It doesn't matter how long I stay here. I could die, and it wouldn't matter, because it's all fake anyway."

Ginny looked worried. "What happened?"

"Well, see," Hermione began conspiratorially, "Draco broke up with me." She lay back on the rock and sighed as the snow once again surrounded her. "But it's a dream, so it's all okay. I just need to wake up."

"He…he broke up with you?"

"Yes, but that's okay, I've dreamed about this before. But that time was worse. And weirder. In fact, this could almost be real, except that Draco wouldn't really break up with me." Ginny eased Hermione up, and Hermione shut her mouth suddenly as she realized how cold and soaked and miserable she was. "Oh, God. It's not a dream, is it?" Ginny shook her head sadly. "But it has to be," Hermione said, tears welling up in her eyes, "I can't live without him. He was—is—my everything. Oh, Ginny!" Hermione said, hugging the redhead fiercely.

"Oh, Hermione, I'm just as surprised as you are. Did he say why?"

"He couldn't handle it, apparently," Hermione snarled, before she burst into fresh waves of tears. She barely noticed when Ginny adeptly steered them to the castle, murmuring comforting words in her ear. However, when they entered the prefect's bath, she did notice. "What are we doing here?" she asked, confused.

"You need to warm up desperately, before you—" Hermione cut her off with a sneeze. "Before you get sick," Ginny finished. Hermione stripped off her robe as well as her shoes and socks and plopped herself into the tub.

"Do you want me to get you some food?" Ginny asked hesitantly.

Hermione looked at her impassively, then shook her head, as if only then realizing there was such a thing as food. "I'm not hungry," she said expressionlessly.

"Okay then," Ginny said, and even Hermione could see through her mask of cheeriness. "Do you want to talk about it?" she said, leaning close. Hermione could see the concern behind her eyes, and had a sudden desire to yell at this girl for being so innocent and naïve. But instead she just shook her head, choosing to keep the memory to herself for a while.

_Draco had looked so beautiful in the firelight as he had turned to her. On her entrance, he had jumped, and she could see something was wrong by the look on his face. "You okay?" she had asked immediately._

"_Yeah, I'm fine. Um…Hermione, I…"_

_Exhausted, all she had wanted was to fall into his arms. "I'm so glad you're here, Draco," she had told him, "you won't believe the kind of day I've had."_

"_Actually," he had said, and the firelight glinted off of his beautiful gray eyes, "I kind of have something to tell you." He looked worried, and Hermione had wanted to wrap her arms around him._

_Taking a step forward, she had asked, "Yes?"_

_But then he'd said something utterly incomprehensible, stringing the words of his sentence together to make one big word that had no meaning. He looked worried, and she blinked in confusion before laughing. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch a word you just said."_

_He took a deep breath, and it was then that she knew it was bad. She should have known then what was coming. But she had been blind, and weak, and stupid. "I think we should break up. I can't…I can't handle being with you anymore. Not like this. I can't even visibly come to see you while you were in the Hospital Wing. I couldn't proudly show you to the world. We've had to sneak around and hide and crawl behind everyone else's backs this whole time!" Hermione blinked, unsteady, and felt ready to laugh. This couldn't possibly be happening, but Draco wasn't done yet. "If you got hurt again, I couldn't wait at your bedside like a good boyfriend, hover nervously about you and wait for you to get better, carry you around like you're glass until everyone laughs at the silliness of it. I just can't. I'm sorry," he told her, and the notes of sincerity in his voice shattered her heart._

_Uncomprehending, she had fallen onto the couch, thinking about her terrible day before she realized what had just happened._

"That's terrible, Hermione," Ginny said. Startled, Hermione looked up at her and realized she'd said the whole tale out loud without meaning to. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," the brunette said faintly, as tears poured down her cheeks. Ginny drew her close in a hug, and she cried on the girl's shoulder. "No, I'm not, this is all a mess. I don't understand how this could have happened. It's not my fault we had to stay secret!"

"Hey, why don't you come over to Orlando's with me tonight? We can all sit down and have some tea and just talk. I'm sure he could make some hot chocolate for us if we wanted it," Ginny coaxed.

Hermione looked at her tremulously, "Really? I could come over?" She sniffed and wiped her eyes as Ginny nodded. "Okay then."

"Good. Now, let's go, and find something fun to do. Or do you just want to go somewhere and read? Reading would be fun, I'm sure," the redhead said. Hermione just nodded as they got out of the bath and dried their clothes off with spells. Ginny pulled on her robe, but Hermione just slung hers over her arm (it was still dripping, and had been too big to dry off) as they headed up to Gryffindor tower.

Rummaging through her trunk for another robe, Hermione spied something odd. Pulling them out, she recognized them as the pair of Draco's jeans she'd worn so long ago. She's meant to give them back, but had forgotten. Tears splattered on the floor as she pulled on the pants and pulled a robe over the outfit. With the robe on, you couldn't see what she was wearing, couldn't tell she was wearing a male's clothing. But she knew, and she smiled gently through her tears at the memory of them sneaking through his house.

"Oh, Draco," she mumbled, before she began to gather his things. In the end, the pile was small: Merlin's book, two black roses, and the clothes she was wearing. Putting all but the clothes in a small pile on her bed to give back to him, she took out another book and went down into the common room. She curled up uncomfortably on a couch and began to read, but soon Harry and Ron entered, casting dirty looks in her direction.

_I can't handle this, _she thought miserably. "Ginny, I can't do this. I'll see you at dinner," she said abruptly, standing and leaving before Ginny could protest. Hermione's wandering feet took her to the Room of Requirement, and she cautiously edged in. It was the usual room, seeped with memories of her and Draco, and she went and lay down on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

Silence. The ceiling seemed to echo her blank thoughts. Slowly she began to strike up a conversation with herself about books she had read, just to fill up the silence as she reached over and took her dress off the table. She had meant to get it last night, but had forgotten to take it with her. Taking out her wand, she carefully repaired the dress so that you could hardly tell it had been ripped apart, then picked up a book (she wasn't sure if it had been there before) on the table about cleaning and used a spell to remove the dirt and blood from her dress.

Now it was just as beautiful as it had been when she'd gotten it. She ran her fingers over it sadly, remembering how he'd held her that night as if nothing else mattered, as if he had wanted to hold her forever.

How he'd told her he loved her. "I love you too," she replied to the emptiness. The room did not answer her back.

Standing, she stretched, and before it was a conscious thought, there were two mirrors on either side of her. Annoyed that the room had read her thoughts before she'd even known them, she took off his shirt and her bra to inspect the damage anyway. _Well, my back looks absolutely awful, _she decided. _Though once the bruises go away, it may not look so bad. My front… _she looked a little closer at the two scars. _Well, I'm not really sure what to make of that._

_It'll be an interesting story though, someday, _she settled on eventually. The makeup Ginny had applied on her yesterday morning (_was it really that long ago already?_) had faded to nothing, and she could see the ugly bruises on her jaw. She sighed. "I guess I was beaten up pretty bad," she said, jumping at the sound of her own voice in the silence. She examined the scar on her shoulder more. "But…that must have gone straight through my shoulder blade," she said aloud, fingering the exit wound. "And this one," she touched the scar under it, "Had to have gone through my ribs and my lung. And this one must have hit some ribs too. How many bones did I break?" she said, beginning to get scared of the magnitude of her own injury.

"I wonder if this one went through anything," she mused aloud, touching the fourth scar on her back. "Surely not through much, if it did. It didn't even go all the way through my body." She looked at herself in the mirrors for some time before concluding, "Well, there goes my chance of ever looking okay in a two piece swimsuit." She snorted, "Or anything that ever shows off my back or shoulder. Oh, how brilliant a situation," she said dryly, though she really didn't mind. It wasn't like she ever wore anything like that anyway.

"At least my tattoo is on my other side," she joked to herself. "I wouldn't want to have to pay for that again." She tapped her left shoulder, where her tattoo hung. But then she looked stricken. "I'm an idiot. If it had been on my left side, chances are at least one of these things would have hit my heart. My tattoo would be the least of my worries then. Who cares about a tattoo when you're dead?"

Sighing, she replaced her clothing and plopped down on her side on the couch, staring at the fire that seemed to be perpetually lit for hours until she finally realized he would not be coming. Tears coming to her eyes once again, she picked up her dress and sadly walked out of the one place that had become her safe haven, shutting the door behind her with a click that ached of finality.

* * *

Ginny was beginning to get frantic. It was nearly ten, and Hermione hadn't come back yet. She had searched all Hermione's usual haunts, to find that no one had seen the girl all day. She flopped onto a couch in the common room, though her nerves were just as tense as her sprawled form was tired. Sighing, she picked herself up into a less all-over-the-place position. Who knew what Hermione would do on her own? Cut herself? Something worse? Ginny shivered at that thought and pulled herself to her feet just as Hermione entered the common room, carrying a bundle of white in her hands. 

"Come on, we're going to be late," Ginny said, annoyed. She grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her back out the portrait, fairly dragging her through the empty halls to Orlando's room. In that hallway, she was careful of other people, though the halls were silent and still. They scurried down the hall, and she knocked on Orlando's door. It opened at her touch, and she went in, giving him a meaningful look as Hermione slipped in after her.

"Oh, Hermione," Orlando said, slightly surprised, and shot a glance at Ginny. She made a gesture of something breaking while Hermione returned Orlando's greeting, praying he'd understand. It looked like he did, as his eyes widened and he mouthed, "We'll talk later" to her. She nodded miserably and led Hermione over to the couch, where she tucked her knees to her chest and stared desolately at the white bundle in her arms.

Orlando offered them tea, and Ginny asked if he could make them hot chocolate instead. "Of course," he said genially, taking out the stuff for it. Ginny and Orlando made idle chat, leaving openings for Hermione to respond. When she didn't, Ginny began to get worried and looked at Orlando for help.

"So, how are you healing? I hope you're feeling better after that dragon thing," Orlando said, forcing Hermione into conversation.

"Okay," she whispered.

"How are your bones feeling," he asked, and Ginny loved him in that moment. Giving him a look of gratitude, she sipped at her hot chocolate in silence, letting the two of them carry on their limping conversation.

"All right, I guess." Ginny saw the flare of true interest in Hermione's eyes as she asked, "What exactly was broken?"

"Well…your jaw was, for one. Then you had your shoulder, upper arm, and a few ribs shattered. Another couple of ribs were fractured, and your lung was punctured in two places," he listed off, looking at her with interest.

"Entrance and exit," she murmured.

"Do you know how she healed you?" he asked.

"A potion, I would assume. I've go scars, though," Hermione said.

"Would you mind if I took a look?" he asked, giving Ginny a glance for permission. She shrugged, and Hermione stood, stripping off her robe. Orlando winced at the bruises all over her, and then she turned her back on the two of them, pulling up her pants (which looked suspiciously too big and boyish to be hers) before she dragged her shirt off.

Even Ginny gasped. The damage was fierce, the whole side of her back one big bruise, with four raggedly circular scars in a slightly curved line down it. Hermione stood for a minute like that, clutching her shirt to her, before she put it back on and settled down on the couch once again, letting her pants fall back down from her waist to be slung low on her hips.

"Oh, Hermione, I didn't know it was that bad," Ginny said. Orlando just shook his head in amazement.

"That'll be quite a story," he told her. She nodded wryly. "You know," he told her hesitantly, "They weren't sure you would make it at first. You lost too much blood." He chuckled softly, "They're still not sure who you are, although I expect that Dumbledore knows. He knows everything that goes on around here," he said, then glanced at Ginny somewhat guiltily and took a large gulp of his hot chocolate before choking on it.

Hermione gave a wry grin at the scene and buried her head in the white cloth that she clutched to her. Ginny wondered what it was before she saw a length of black ribbon sticking out. _Her dress? _She wondered, and then remembered the night of the ball.

"Hermione? What exactly happened that made you run out of the ball in the first place?" she asked curiously.

Unexpectedly, Hermione burst into tears. Ginny looked at Orlando, horrified, and he stood and wrapped his arms around the crying girl. She turned and cried into his chest while Ginny hovered around guiltily. "He said," she gasped between sobs, "That he loved me, and then I got scared and ran, but now he's gone, and…" she trailed off and simply wept into the dress while Orlando pet her hair, looking over at Ginny in bewilderment.

But Ginny had understood what Hermione had said.

_Oh, that cruel bastard. And to think, I was actually beginning to like him! Or at least tolerate the thought of him. Telling her that you love her (probably for the first time, too) and then breaking up with her five days later. That's just cruel. Wait a minute…_

_He still loves her! He just doesn't want to sneak around about it. He never told her that he didn't love her anymore, and while that can be something mean to say as a break up, it's at least a good reason._

_And one he wouldn't forget to mention._

By the time Ginny had finished her realization, Orlando was back in the kitchen heating up some more hot chocolate, and Hermione was staring blankly at the wall. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't know," she apologized. Hermione shrugged one shoulder, and Ginny felt even worse.

The rest of the evening was filled with idle chat, though Ginny was always carefully looking at Hermione. After an hour long visit (Ginny might have stayed longer under normal circumstances, but thought Hermione should get some rest), she and Hermione left, and Ginny quietly promised Orlando she would be back in a half hour to fill him in on all the details.

Just before Ginny closed the door to her dorm (she would at least pretend to go to bed before going out again), she heard a faint "Thank you" and turned to beam at Hermione. "Any time. If you want to talk, I'm always here," she offered. The brunette nodded, but didn't look like she would take her up on the offer.

"Well, goodnight," Ginny said. Hermione just nodded again and went to her own dormitory.

* * *

After dropping Ginny off at her dormitory, Hermione went off to her own dormitory and sat on her bed for a minute. She stared at the black roses that lay on Merlin's book, and then picked it up as if she'd never seen it before. "Promise of a rose," she murmured under her breath. She picked up one—the first one Draco had given her and sniffed it deeply. It still held that fresh-picked fragrance, and she felt a pang of desire for Draco. She just wanted him back, she just wanted to hold him in her arms and be held in his. Was that truly too much to ask for? 

_Apparently, _she thought dryly, _it is._

She slowly stood and pulled on the dress that she'd worn for the ball that night. She had a flash of memory of Draco with his wings, those magnificent glossy wings of his. Smiling gently, she put her mask on and redid her hair, pulling her cloak on over the outfit even though there was no one to see her. It was nearly midnight when she finished, but she was satisfied with herself (even though you could see the bruises on her jaw and on her arm, but that couldn't be helped).

Slowly, she ghosted through the halls and went up onto the roof where they'd taken their O.W.L.s for astronomy last year. Smiling gently, she danced with herself on the roof, spinning herself around and around just for the sheer delight of it. But then her face grew serious, and she stood still, leaning against the short wall. The wind rippled her skirts around her, and she wanted to laugh at it, but didn't.

_I wonder what it would be like to fly, _she mused. _Just jump off the wall here and spread my wings._ Closing her eyes, she felt the wind on her face, her bare arms, fluttering her skirt. _I can pretend that I have wings like Draco's, beautiful glossy black ones that will stand out against that white snow._

_It would be beautiful to play with you, _she thought to the wind, spreading her arms and feeling it swirl around her. _We could play, but if we did, it would only be the once. There would never be a second chance._ "Do you understand the rules?" she asked the wind aloud, although really she was asking herself, and she knew it.

With bare feet, she sidled away from the edge and onto the more stable center. _But I should live. There is so much to live for. I could be the perfect spy for Dumbledore, simply perfect. And I may even be able to win Harry and Ron back._

With a sigh, she took a step back to the edge, "But what is life without him?" _Voldemort will not care about my petty problems in this, so who to run to? Ginny was analyzing me all night, and I don't like that. All my other friends are gone now. Surprising, _she thought, taking another step, _that they didn't tell Ginny I was a traitor. Lucky for me, I suppose, but surprising._

_Oh, but my Draco, what is life without you? It is not life at all. Already I ache to have you back, to fill this space inside of me. I had to adjust to make room for you in my life, my heart, but now that you're gone…I'm just empty._

_How can I be me without you? I could before, but not now._

Hesitantly, and scared out of her wits, she opened her eyes and stepped up onto the wall. The wind buffeted her eagerly from all sides, asking her to come and play with it. She smiled slightly, and felt the urge to do it, just go play. _Forget all of this, forget your mortal pain, your misery, _it insisted playfully, _come play with me._

Hermione closed her eyes again and felt right for the first time since she'd left Draco's arms. "Ginny shall be my only mourner. And maybe Orlando. But they will have each other to console. Harry and Ron don't care. I don't think my father would either, actually. Neither of them. Draco…" Her throat seemed clogged, and tears filled her eyes as she continued thickly, "Draco doesn't love me either. Makes me wonder if he ever did."

She thought for another five minutes, frowning. "Alright," she said into the wind, "I'll come play with you, although I'll admit, I never thought it would turn out like this." She took a deep breath as a sense of calm washed over her. She didn't bother to wipe away her final tears over Draco. The wind picked up in anticipation, tugging at her dress more wildly than ever and playing with her hair.

With a disquieting sense of peace, Hermione stepped out from the wall and began her long descent to the ground.

* * *

_I never thought I'd die alone  
Another six months I'll be unknown  
Give all my things to all my friends  
You'll never set foot in my room again_

—Blink 182 "Adam's Song"

* * *

**DMHG 2GETHER 4EVER:**Eeee! Was it that confusing! I tried to make it not-so-confusing. What were you confused about? The whole scene? I can try to clarify, if you specify what confused you! --hides in embarrassment-- 


	17. Chapter 16: “It doesn’t matter”

A/N: I was shocked at how many of you thought that may have actually been the end! No way! When it's over, I'll actually write THE END at the end of the chapter, and more likely than not, it'll be at the end of an epilogue! Okay, so I'm having fun writing this, tried to get it out as soon as possible!

CHAPTER 16: "It doesn't matter."

The wind howled in victory as she fell. But something was wrong, and she found out what as her left arm (her good one) was nearly torn out of its socket (or at least that's how it felt). A strangled moan fell from her lips at the pain. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" A familiar voice said as she was hauled up onto the roof again.

Rubbing her shoulder, she turned away from Draco, not wanting to look at him. "What did it look like I was doing?" she snapped as she began to walk to the door.

Long fingers wrapped around her wrist and held her back. "From where I was standing, it looked like you were trying to kill yourself," he told her softly. "And on the first morning of the New Year too."

"And so what if I was?" she asked, annoyed. "If you ever really cared for me, it's not like you do now. Or anyone else, for that matter. Once Ginny knows, she'll hate me too. There's nothing else left." She wrenched her wrist from his grasp and walked back over to the door, wanting nothing more than to get away from him.

"There's plenty left, Granger. Don't you want to be Head Girl next year? You can do it, I know you can. And what of your mother? You're still her daughter no matter what you do or have done," he growled at her.

"So we're back to that now, are we?" she asked, tears filling her eyes. He'd used her last name again. Stubbornly, she held herself tall and kept the tears in check as she made her way to the door again.

"Did you expect anything else?" he drawled, sounding so much like his old self.

"No." She answered truthfully and didn't wipe away the tear that fell as she finally jerked open the door and collapsed on the stairwell. "But I had hoped for it," she told the door behind her as she dragged herself to her feet and rushed down the stairs in an effort to get away from the tower as fast as she could.

* * *

Seeing Hermione in the dress she had worn to the ball had brought back memories to Draco. Particularly holding her in his arms while he told her he loved her. He angrily punched the low stone wall as his eyes welled up with furious tears. Until she had almost killed herself, he had never known how much she meant to him. 

Sinking against the wall, he brought her up in his mind. She had looked exactly as she had several nights ago, with her hair short and straight with a slight flip, lighter than it was normally. Her mask had obscured part of her face, but he had seen how she had carefully not looked at him. He picked up her cloak, which she'd dropped to the ground before beginning to dance, and held it close.

"Oh, Hermione. You have no idea how much that broke my heart. But I just…can't. I can't stand not being able to be there for you," he told the cloak, blinking quickly to dispel his tears. Sighing, he stood and addressed the wind as Hermione had before, "I nearly fell prey to you once as well. I understand her want for death. But you will not get this chance again."

It was a promise, and one he would be sure to keep.

Sighing, he made his way back down to his common room, and sat by the fire for a long time, thinking.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione awoke shivering. Looking around, she saw that she'd fallen asleep on top of her blankets in her dress from the night before. With a soft groan, she fell back on her pillows as she remembered, and all her aches and pains returned. By now both her shoulders hurt, and the right side of her back, and her jaw, and…groaning again, she pushed herself out of bed and got out of the dress, pulling on Draco's jeans and tank top again. 

_I should give them back, _she reflected as she snuggled up under her blankets. _But I don't think I will just yet. After all, I do need to get them washed first, _she thought with a smirk.

Looking at the black rose on her nightstand, she fell back asleep.

Waking later, Hermione decided to do some cleaning. She put all of the things Draco had ever given her in a small pile on her bed before changing into something more casual and going out to search for a house elf to wash Draco's clothes, feeling insanely guilty all the while for making a house elf do it. But the house elf didn't mind in the least, and it lessened her agitation somewhat.

She sat glumly on her bed for the rest of the day, going over the break up in her head. Somewhat later, a house elf appeared and gave her back the clothes, and she thanked it gratefully and put them under the pile of his other things. Hermione sighed. She was ready to do this. Fumbling in her trunk for her too-long cloak, she was surprised to find it gone. Annoyed to no end (she must have left it up on the roof last night), she took her other cloak and packed his things in a box, which she then shrunk to fit in her pocket.

Hesitatingly, she went down to the dungeons, unsure of her welcome. _Unsure, _she snorted to herself. _I know what kind of welcome I'm going to get, and it's going to be a lousy one at least. But I need to…I need to give his stuff back, at least. _Passing the Great Hall, she saw it was lunch time. Her stomach didn't even protest, and she continued on, confused. _I haven't eaten since…since he broke up with me. But why don't I even feel hungry?_

Shrugging it off, she came to the blank wall that was the entrance to Slytherin. Leaning against it for support, she made the box back to its regular size and said the password, edging in. The room was empty. "I guess they're all at lunch," she murmured as she made his way to the sixth year boys' dormitory. She clumsily opened the door and walked in, placing the box on his bed.

Using her wand, she etched out the words "for you" on the box. Looking at the scorch marks, Hermione smiled in satisfaction and turned to go. "What are you doing here?" Draco asked, his voice and face expressionless.

Hermione froze at the sight of him. He was just so handsome, and she ached for him with every fiber of her being. They may not have been together long, but it didn't matter, because she was in love with him, and it hurt. Suddenly, she remembered to breathe and looked away from him, knowing she wouldn't be able to control herself if she kept looking at him. "Returning your stuff," she told him as she brushed past him to the door.

"Oh, it's you. Wait," he said, realizing she meant to leave. She stopped but didn't turn around. "Here's your cloak. You left it up there last night," he said, and she grabbed the black cloth that presented itself at her side. Not trusting her voice or her words, she clamped her jaws shut and inclined her head slightly in thanks as she skirted out of the room.

Out of the Slytherin common room, she burst into a run, and pushed herself out into the snow outside, crying up a storm. "No," she sobbed loudly, "it's not over. It can't be!" A hand was on her shoulder, but when she turned around, it was only a concerned fifth year. Gathering herself together into a somewhat-composed posture and demeanor, she thanked him for his concern and stiffly walked back into the castle. There was nowhere she could go.

Stumbling into a prefect's bathroom, she locked the door behind her and quickly stripped, falling into the tub ungracefully. Bitter tears melted into the water, but she found she could not be mad at him, even for all this pain. She sat in the steaming water for a long while, and didn't even think. All Hermione did was breathe, and it was enough.

After nearly three hours, she pulled herself out and dried herself off, examining herself in a mirror. She was startled to see her hair short and dirty blonde, and she laughed at herself for forgetting. "Oh, Draco. I wanted to look so pretty for you. And I wanted to feel it again last night, even if you wouldn't be there," she murmured to her reflection miserably. "Except that you were, and it only made things worse."

_"I think it looks good like this." _The fragment of memory stuck in her mind, and she fluffed her hair just as he had. Frowning, she used a spell to grow it out again, and changed the color back. "Maybe someday I'll leave it like that for you, Draco," she said quietly into the silence.

Dressing again, she left the bathroom and wandered the halls only to find herself at the library.

Running a hand through her hair, she considered. "Well, I know it's Christmas break, but even so, there's homework due after the holiday that I could work on. It may not be much, but it'll keep me busy." Having made her decision, she went up to her room to get her school supplies and then went back down to the library to immerse herself in homework, mentally thinking how typical it was of her to study in order to forget her pain.

* * *

Draco carefully stalked Hermione for the rest of that day, mentally keeping tags on where she was at what time. He would not let her die, and she would not get the chance. Looking at her from behind a bookshelf, he felt a now-familiar twinge of his heart. He had been telling her the truth when he said he loved her. He still did, in fact, he just couldn't deal with her. 

Carefully, he set up a spell and cast it on Hermione, who didn't even blink. _Good, she didn't even notice. _Tapping a page with his wand, he muttered another incantation, and then he saw a solitary black dot on the page. Draco snuck away and went to another library table, and then cast the spell on himself as well. Another dot appeared on the page, this one a vibrant green.

Grimacing at the color, he used the green dot's position to mark out the boundaries of the library on the parchment. He mapped the way up to Gryffindor tower, then also to the Room of Requirement just to be safe before going down and mapping from the library to the Great Hall. It was a lot of work, and took almost four hours to complete, but by the end of the day, Draco was the happy owner of a rough map of Hogwarts that was keyed in to two people: himself and Hermione.

Sitting on his bed, he watched as Hermione went past the boundary line and into Gryffindor tower. Smirking, he murmured "Gotcha," as he set up one final spell and cast it. This one was keyed to Hermione alone, and would set off an alarm of sorts if she passed the boundary line of Gryffindor. Smiling wearily to himself, Draco fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Hermione fidgeted, unable to sleep. She knew what the problem was, and refused to think about it as she sat there and thought about nothing. She mentally began to make idle lists in her mind until she fell prey to a troubled sleep, unaware that Draco was sleeping badly as well. 

When morning came, Hermione yawned and stretched. She was still really tired. Grumbling to herself about not getting much sleep, she dressed and was happy to hear her stomach give a slight protest at the lack of food. Well, then, she was at least a little hungry (after not eating for two whole days, she couldn't say she was surprised). Heading down to breakfast, she sat down as far as she could from Harry and Ron and found herself staring at all the food on the table with a slightly queasy feeling.

Still feeling sick, she managed to choke down three bites of toast before the nauseous feeling overwhelmed her and she couldn't eat anymore. Sighing, she put down her toast and left, ignoring Ginny's concerned glance.

Before long, she was in the library once again. Hermione read through all the stories from Wizard Mythology, and had great fun at it. She particularly paid attention to Ishtar and the Angel's story. It was quite interesting really. Apparently, even though Ishtar had become nearly as immortal as her Angel, after over thirty years of being together, she fell off a cliff (no one knew whether it was suicide—Hermione shivered as she remembered her own almost-death—or whether she had been pushed), and so her Angel went on a killing spree.

After that, the tale got foggy as several different endings were made. One text had made the mention of Ishtar's ghost coming back and comforting her Angel into peace. Another said that he turned his own sword against him. A third noted that he wrecked a whole town seeking revenge for his loved one and became a vengeful angel who sought out injustices and dealt retribution for the wronged.

_That's so sad, _she thought. _It's amazing how much he loved her. I wish…I wish I could be loved that much too, _she wondered bitterly. _But how could anyone love what I've become? This creature of darkness, who willingly tortured someone to death. Who allows Lord Voldemort to be her father. Who is in love with her friends' childhood enemy. Hah! Friends. Not like I have any of those anymore. _

_But maybe…Maybe I can make things right…Can I?_ Standing up, she began her search for Professor McGonagall, her own doubts swarming in her mind. The hairs prickled on the back of her neck as she got the feeling that someone was watching her. Ignoring the feeling, she picked up her pace slightly and was happy to run into Professor Flitwick. Not exactly the person she was aiming for, but he would do. "Professor? I need to see Professor Dumbledore. It's urgent," she told him.

"Miss Granger! Is something wrong?" he asked worriedly.

"Um…kind of. But not something you need to worry about. I just need to see him right away," she said uncertainly.

"All right then. Follow me, please." She did as she was told, and as they walked, he struck up a conversation. "Now, I wouldn't normally do this, but you're such a good student, and I trust your judgment. Plus, you're a prefect. You wouldn't be doing this to pull a prank," he said, eyeing her as if she might indeed do so. Hermione looked offended, and he smiled at her as they reached a statue.

"Canary cream," the short professor told it. The statue came to life and leaped aside, and Hermione was taken up the revolving staircase. Though she'd read about the Headmaster's office in _Hogwarts: A History, _she'd never been in it before, and peered about excitedly as Flitwick knocked on the door.

"Come in," Professor Dumbledore's voice said. They entered, and she gasped in surprise and excitement at all the little silver trinkets in the room. "Ah, Miss Granger. I have been expecting you for some time. Please, have a seat. Thank you for showing her the way, but you may leave now. We have some important business to discuss," he told the professor. Looking amazed and confused, Professor Flitwick left the room.

"Professor, how…?"

"Miss Granger, I know everything that goes on at my school, or nearly everything. This was to be about you and your relations with Mister Malfoy, no?"

Hermione noticed she was trembling and gripped the armrests of the chair as she shook her head. "No, actually. Sir, this was going to be about Lord Voldemort," she said shakily.

"Really?" he said, and his silver eyebrows arched high.

"Yes, actually. Um…sir, I haven't been…completely honest with everyone this year at school. Because…" she took a deep breath, the words lodged in her throat. She exhaled and looked at his pale blue eyes, and felt like crying. She took another very deep breath and then said in a rush, "I've been working for him this whole school year."

Professor Dumbledore didn't say anything, and she found that she could not bear to look at him. Hermione took another breath. "I mean, I haven't been doing much, but…even so. I've become a Death Eater, and he even calls me…he calls me his daughter, and the Dark Lady. And it was good at first, I didn't mind it. I've tortured and killed, and it took me months to realize that he really didn't care about good people versus bad people. He would kill them all for the sheer joy of it. I didn't know he would attack the school with dragons, although I expect that was him. And if I had known, I would've said something, honest."

"I believe it was him," Dumbledore acceded in suspicious tones.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, although Hermione suspected he already knew.

"I don't…I don't want to be with them anymore. I want to be good now," she pleaded. "I know it was wrong, and I should have from the start, but I was just all off and I thought, 'hell, why not' and he was just so…I don't know, but he didn't seem so bad at the time! In fact, he seemed a lot like me! But I guess that was his point. Sir, do with me as you see fit, but I do wish to be on your side now."

"Yes," Dumbledore breathed, and she looked up at him, startled at how easily forgiving he was. "All right, then. But you will tell me _everything _he tells you, and come to me whenever you two have contacted. I cannot risk another attack on the school."

Hermione fidgeted in her seat a little uncomfortably. Dumbledore gave a sort of chuckle. "Yes, I know it was you who was hurt by the dragons, there's no need to try and hide it," he informed her. "I liked you and Mister Malfoy's costumes, by the way. Your idea, or his?"

"Well, mine," she admitted. "But he was the one who mentioned something that made me think of it."

"I see. Well, unless there is anything else you'd like to tell me, I believe this meeting is over."

Knowing a dismissal when she heard one, Hermione nodded and pulled herself out of her seat, feeling a whole lot better for having confessed. Before she could open the door though, Dumbledore added, "Remember though, you have to at least pretend to be on his side though. If he tells you to torture someone again, you _will _do so. You are the one who signed up for this, and you're going to see it through, no matter the personal cost," he warned.

_This is my punishment, _she thought bitterly as she replied, "Yes, sir," and left.

--

Draco's hand began to tingle uncontrollably. Excusing himself from the lunch table, he prowled out of the Great Hall, whipping out his makeshift map on the way. Immediately, his hand stopped tingling, and he saw Hermione's dot moving along down the corridor from the library. He dashed up all the stairs and finally found himself in the same hallway that she was. Stalking her quietly, he followed her until she ran into Flitwick, begging an audience with Dumbledore.

Draco plopped down in an empty classroom. So she had been serious about going to Dumbledore and becoming good. Sighing, he went back down to finish his lunch, unsure if he would join her or not now that they weren't together.

But he still loved her, and needed to take that into consideration as well.

--

Pleased with the result of her meeting with Dumbledore, Hermione went up to her dormitory again. She really wasn't quite sure what to do with herself, to tell the truth. Without Draco, she seemed to have lost touch with the world, it was as if she was looking at the world through Harry's glasses and everything was out-of-focus. She pulled out a notebook and wrote a letter to her mum, something she'd been meaning to do for a while.

_Dear mum, _

_I hope you have been doing well while I'm at school. I'm sorry it took me this long to finally write to you, but I've been busy with my work. I can't believe it's 6th year already, but I'm very excited and can't wait until next year. I've been keeping up my grades so that I may get Head Girl next year. _

_There was a ball last week, and it was a ton of fun. I went as Ishtar, and my date went as the Angel of Death. They're from Wizard Mythology, and it's quite an interesting story. It was a lot of fun getting dressed up, and my Angel even grew real wings for me. I think he may have been able to fly if he wanted to. _

_That's about all that's been going on here. What all has been going on at home? _He _has moved out by now, right? And how are you doing? _

_Lots of love, _

_Hermione _

With a feeling of satisfaction, she put down her quill and waited for the ink to dry, and let her thoughts wander. _My life is such a mess, _she thought miserably. _First I'm on Voldemort's side—the result of my own terrible judgment—and then Harry and Ron find out about it, and when I need him the most, Draco leaves me. And then there's Dumbledore, who is forcing me to stay with the Death Eaters and Voldemort. I even have to do everything they tell me to! _

_Maybe it would be better to have just stayed neutral in this war. _Sighing, she mashed her pillow against her face in annoyance. _This is all just great. Brilliant. And all my fault too. I told Voldemort I could follow him, and now I'm going to have to. If I don't, what kind of spy am I? Certainly a spy without any good information, which would give me the rank of 'useless'. _

Grumbling to herself, she stretched out on the bed, and was soon asleep without meaning to be.

Waking later (it seemed her sleep was riddled with wakefulness recently), Hermione stood and loosened her muscles. She looked at the progress of the bruises on her shoulder and upper arm to see that they were getting better, by now a dull yellowy brown with age. She spotted her letter to her mum on her nightstand and decided she could mail it some other time. Her stomach grumbled a protest. "Yes, I have been abusing you, haven't I?" she murmured softly, thinking. _I haven't eaten anything but a couple bites of toast in three days._

Pulling on her long cloak, she slipped down into the common room. There were still a few people there, so maybe it wasn't as late (early?) as she'd thought. Hermione decided not to sneak around and boldly walked to the portrait hole and clambered out. It was only now that she snuck, and she stuck to the shadows as she made the long walk to the kitchens.

The few house elves who were awake immediately came to her side, asking what she wanted. "Um..I don't know. Do you have any leftover dinner? A little bit of cold chicken maybe?" she said. They brought out a huge plate of chicken, and she looked at it, beginning to feel queasy. "Thank you," she murmured, taking just a small bit of chicken. Fighting nausea, she ate it slowly and felt a little better when she had. _I'm sorry, _she thought to her stomach, _I just can't eat it. I hope you forgive me._

Thanking the elves again, she turned and walked out the door only to run into Draco. "You." She said.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked back to his common room. Hermione went back to her own, thinking. _Maybe…maybe there's still a chance for us. Who cares? There's no one left that matters anymore. We can be together now, and there's no one to stop us. Ginny already knew, sure, but Harry and Ron were the real reason that we weren't openly together. Well, and all of Gryffindor would see me as a traitor, but I just don't care. _

Pulling herself into bed, she fell into a restful sleep, with hopeful thoughts buzzing in her head.

--

Morning again. Hermione had lost all track of time by now, and only knew night versus day. Dressing, she remembered her thoughts from last night and felt a little lighter. "This may work," she thought aloud as she pulled on a robe. "Maybe we can openly love each other."

"Ooh, who are you talking about?" Lavender squealed, and Parvati was instantly at her side. "A lover? You must tell! We haven't talked to you in a while."

"Really Lavender? She was talking about a lover? Spill," she ordered Hermione.

"Can't," Hermione said simply. She picked up the letter to her mum and turned to go.

"Oh, I hope he isn't beating her, look at that bruise on her jaw," Parvati whispered pityingly as she shut the door. Rolling her eyes, she went to the owlery.

Picking a reliable-looking school owl, she remembered Draco's promise to let her use his. She sighed and tied the letter to the leg, telling it where to go. Task done, she left the owlery to see a blonde person whisk around the corner. "Draco," she murmured. She would know that walk anywhere. She ran to catch up, but when she turned the corner, he was gone.

Grumbling to herself, she made her way outside, then a thought struck her. _What if he's following me? To make sure I don't try to kill myself again? Maybe…_ her frown turned into a victorious smirk. _Maybe if I go up to the roof again he'll follow me?_

With the desperate hope a shining beacon in her heart, she trudged up the stairs to the roof. Licking her lips with indecision, she tried to piece together what to say. But he came all too soon for her personal comfort. "Draco," she murmured as he approached. "We need to talk."

As if catching her mood, he took a step back, "No, Granger. We have nothing more to talk about."

"Listen to me," she begged, but he turned his back on her and went back down. Panicking, she followed him. "Draco, stop, wait! We don't have to keep quiet anymore. We can just be us. Who cares if anyone finds out! It doesn't matter!"

As if he could not hear her, he continued on his way, though she could see his pace was rushed. "Draco! Stop! It doesn't matter anymore! We don't have to keep secrets. There's no one here to worry anyway, no one that matters! Draco, it doesn't matter!" She clutched at his sleeve somewhere on the second floor hallway. He shook her off, and she fell to the floor, staring blankly at his receeding footsteps.

Halfway down the stairs... Hermione picked herself up off the floor and ran to catch up with him. She tripped on the last step but didn't care. "Draco, stop! I love you," she said from where she crouched on all fours on the ground. Hermione could practically hear the halls gasp with amazement, and she was sure she saw Draco pause in his steady gait. But then he just walked away...

On the ground, Hermione punched the tiles. "Damn him," she mumbled, pulling herself to her feet. _If you're not mine again in three days, I'm going to make the jump, _she promised herself. _I have no one left here, and I can't do this alone. I wish I could tell you this deadline, but I know I can't, because if I did, you'd know the ultimatum attached, and you may come back just to keep me alive._

_And I don't want you to play with me like that. If you love me, _her thoughts whimpered, _come back. But if you don't..._

Shaking her head sadly and closing her mind to these dark thoughts, Hermione glared hard at all the staring students and stoically walked back up the stairs to her room.

* * *

Please just don't play with me  
My paper heart will bleed

"My Paper Heart" All-American Rejects


	18. Chapter 17: Switching Sides

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long to get out. My computer COMPLETELY crashed, and we had to re-download everything, all the way from Windows up to all of our little pointless programs that we love anyway. So I haven't been able to write for a couple of days, SORRY! But here is the next chapter. --billowing-cape introductory bow--

CHAPTER 17: Switching Sides

That night, Hermione wandered the halls aimlessly. _Okay, three days. This won't be so bad. Classes start again the day after tomorrow, and that'll be day three. All I can hope for is that he comes back to me. _Whispers followed her, speaking of the scene she had made that morning. By now, the whole school knew (it hadn't helped that it was a Hogsmeade-in-the-Hall weekend).

Hermione didn't care.

It was hard for her to imagine that she didn't care, but she truly didn't. As she had said, it simply didn't matter anymore. None of it mattered, so long as he was at her side. _Which he will be, _she promised herself. _I'm sure of it. _But she wasn't sure—she wasn't sure at all.

So passed the final weekend of her holiday, in a glum blur of whispers, betrayed glances, and heartbreak.

Monday dawned bright and frosty. Hermione slowly dressed and packed her bag, ignoring Lavender and Parvati's loudly whispered insults and obvious glares. She calmly walked down to breakfast, thinking, _Fine, hate me. Because if he doesn't come back to me, you'll never get another chance. _

_

* * *

_"Ooh, I just can't believe the nerve of that girl," Pansy hissed at Draco's side. "She makes a scene as big as that and then dares to show her face around here still!" Hermione settled down at the very edge of her table, and he could see the malicious intent on the faces around her._ Oh, Hermione. You should have let it be, _he thought, his heart aching. _The Dark Lord will not appreciate you for earning their hate. _ "Ooh, I just can't believe the nerve of that girl," Pansy hissed at Draco's side. "She makes a scene as big as that and then dares to show her face around here still!" Hermione settled down at the very edge of her table, and he could see the malicious intent on the faces around her., he thought, his heart aching. 

But even thinking like this, he could not help knowing she had a point. _We could be together openly. It would be painful, and we would be hated. We could make it though. But, Hermione, do you really want to be hated like that? _"You poor thing, I can't believe she said that to you. Telling you she loved you…." Pansy clucked her tongue disapprovingly, then laughed. "Look, all her precious Gryffindors all hate her now. I don't think she'll ever regain herself in their eyes."

Suddenly, something in Draco's mind clicked. _You already are hated by them, love. There's no way you could be hated more if we were together. And me…well, if I've got you, I can deal with it. _Cocking his head, he realized that was probably what she had been thinking too, and he was the one who was slow on the uptake. He felt horribly stupid, and guilty for making her wait. "What was she talking about, anyway?" Pansy continued, taking a generous portion of scrambled eggs. Draco stood, but Parkinson kept talking, "You never did answer me last time I asked."

Draco slung his book bag over his shoulder and crossed the hall, ignoring the eyes that followed him.

* * *

Hermione looked up at Draco's arrival, a mixture of confusion and hope in her eyes. He put his fingertips under her chin, and she stood at his gentle touch, though he exerted no pressure. It seemed the whole school held its breath. Softly, he kissed her, and as one, the school gasped. Grinning, Draco took her hand and she snatched up her book bag with her free hand. Smiling, they hurried from the hall. 

"Draco, I was afraid you wouldn't…" she whimpered.

He smiled back at her as he pulled her into an unused classroom. Their book bags made twin thumps as they fell to the floor, immediately ignored by the excited couple. Draco pushed Hermione's robe off her shoulders before picking her up and setting her on a dusty desk. "I'm sorry I took so long," he told her as he climbed up onto the desk to straddle her.

"Don't worry about it," she whispered as he began to cover her with kisses. Before long, she was fumbling in vain with the buttons of her blouse, as was Draco. Suddenly he drew back in frustration, and the buttons on her shirt exploded off in a patter of bouncing buttons. Draco looked embarrassed at the childish display of a lack of control, but Hermione just laughed and sat up on her elbows. "You owe me a new shirt," she pouted.

Hovering over her, Draco nodded self-consciously. "Or I could just take yours," she suggested playfully. Grinning wolfishly, he stripped off his own robe and shirt, handing his shirt to her. Hermione looked startled that he'd actually taken her suggestion, and he didn't miss the appreciative glance at his body. A second later, his shirt was on the floor with their robes (and Hermione's buttons), and neither of the teenagers could be bothered about it.

After what seemed a very long time, they stopped their frenetic kissing. "We missed class," Draco whispered to Hermione, sitting up.

"I know," she mumbled, sitting up as well. She looked down at herself and blushed—her shirt and bra had come off sometime without her noticing. Before she could cover herself Draco did, wrapping his arms around her body to hold her close, and she shivered pleasantly at the touch of his skin on hers. "I was afraid you wouldn't come back to me, Draco," she whimpered.

Draco held her closer. "I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear, and the hairs on her neck rose at his breath.

"We should get to class," she grumbled, loathe to have him let her go. Draco sighed and nibbled on her ear a little before letting her go. He slid off of her, and then the desk and picked up his robe and her shirt. Hermione slipped off the table too, raising a cloud of dust and managed to get her bra back on before he engulfed her in his arms. His fingers traced a pattern on her back, and it took her a moment to realize that he was touching her scars from the Hungarian Horntail.

"Ugly, aren't they?" she grimaced, pulling his shirt on over them and turning to face him.

"Never," he told her before he kissed her. "They're a part of you, and you," he informed her, "Are never ugly." Hermione smiled, but then the look in his eyes turned to one of concerned embarrassment. "Ah…sorry about that," he said, bending down to brush the dust from the back of her skirt and shirt while she dealt with the front.

"Sorry about what?"

He turned his attention to his dusty shins. "About that hickey on your neck," he said nervously. "I wasn't paying attention."

Hermione put on her robe and perched on the edge of the desk, shrugging, "They all know what we were doing anyway." She waited for him to finish dusting himself off. When he did, she stood, only to find herself wrapped up in his arms once again. "Let's try this again, without you running away to get attacked by a dragon," he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. But then he sobered, and looked down at her adoringly, "I love you."

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "I love you too," she smiled back to him.

The bell rang, and they both jumped. "Oh no," she groaned. "I have to get to Herbology." Giving Draco a quick kiss, she ran over to the door and grabbed her bag, handing him his before rushing out into the throng that filled the hallway. However, an odd hush surrounded her as people recognized her.

And then the whispers began.

Thinking of Draco, she smirked and pushed past the people who obstinately would not move out of her way, eventually being forced to draw her wand and look menacingly at everyone. Entering the greenhouses, she muttered an apology to Professor Sprout, whose look was contradictingly one of both approval and disapproval. "A night of detention for you," she told Hermione, who shrugged. _A single night was completely worth it, _she thought. _I probably know the entire curriculum anyway. _

That day, Hermione had at least a million insults thrown at her, and half as many hexes, only a small percentage of which actually managed to hit her in the crowded halls. It seemed amazing though that whenever a jinx stopped her from undoing it herself (like a full body-bind spell, for example), for some reason, Draco seemed to always be just around the corner to come to her rescue.

Hermione dragged herself into wakefulness with a groan. Draco had wanted to meet her in their room (well, it wasn't _really _theirs, but they spent so much time in it that it practically was), but she was just so tired that it was hard to stay awake. She snuggled her head into the pillow a little more, and sighed comfortably. _If he doesn't get here soon, _she thought drowsily, _I'm not sure I'll be awake to greet him. _

_

* * *

_

Draco opened the door quietly, guiltily aware that he was late. He hadn't meant to be late, but it seemed he'd run into a million teachers on the way. The fire was burning low in the hearth, and he walked over to it, slinging his robe over the armchair like Hermione's. Seeing that Hermione lay asleep on the couch, he held his laughter in check as he realized he'd forgotten to get another shirt. Then he smiled gently at her, seeing she still wore his. "Yeah, it's been a tiring day," he quietly agreed to her sleeping figure.

Hermione mumbled in her sleep, and Draco shrugged. "Oh, what the hell. Going back to our dormitories tonight would be close to suicide, anyway." _Besides, I wouldn't want to wake her up, _he thought, _She looks so…peaceful there. Surprising, considering the hell she went through today at school. _Glancing around, he saw an alarm clock sitting on the table. Shaking his head indulgently at the room, he set it for six in the morning and left it on the table before easing himself next to Hermione. She snuggled up to him in her sleep and he held her close.

"You don't have to be my secret anymore," he told her quietly. "It's hard to believe that I could have ever let you go." Kissing her cheek, he settled in next to her. "We won't have to ever be apart again, love."

But then he remembered that he was still the Dark Lord's creature, and that she was playing both sides of the table. _So we will be apart, if only in that. But…maybe we don't have to be. I don't really agree with Dumbledore's cause, and just I still think muggles are just a waste of precious air. But I suppose Mudbloods aren't _that _bad. They're still wizards, at least._

_Except…she's not just a Mudblood. She's my friend, my girlfriend, my…world, my everything! Who cares about her blood. There was a time when I would have, and a time when I did, but it really doesn't matter anymore. We love each other, and blood can't get in the way of that, at least not anymore. _

_No, not anymore. And it would be better if we were together. Always and forever and in everything. I can't let her go through that alone. No._

"If you're going down, love, then I am too." The promise was whispered in her ear, and, as if she could hear him through her sleep, her fingers curled around his hand. _If you're going to be in danger of being caught double-dealing then so am I. I'm not going to let you do that alone. I'll protect you. I don't agree with Dumbledore, not exactly, but this isn't about him._

_This is about Hermione. Maybe it always was._

A blanket appeared over the edge of the couch, and he pulled it down over the both of them before following Hermione into sleep.

* * *

An alarm blared somewhere. Hermione shifted, and an arm coiled around her more tightly. "Mmm…stay," a voice murmured in her ear. In her lethargic thoughts, it was hard to place it. 

"Draco?" she whispered, not opening her eyes. The alarm stopped abruptly, and she squirmed closer to his warm body.

"Yes?" he asked, pulling her up next to him.

"When did you get here?"

He chuckled softly. "Last night. You were asleep, and I didn't want to wake you. That, and," he added, kissing her softly, "Going back to our dormitories last night would have been death anyway. I'm not sure the school is too happy with our decision."

"Fuck them," Hermione grumbled, finally opening her eyes. "I'm happy. And if they want to worry about _our _personal lives that much, that's their fault." Silence kissed their conversation for a moment before Hermione added, "Are you happy?"

Draco propped himself up on his elbow and examined her. Hermione bit her lip nervously, as if not daring to hope that he'd say yes but doing so anyway. Her hair was tousled with sleep, and her eyes looked at him longingly, and he could see that she loved him. Smiling, he leaned down and nuzzled her neck. "With you? I'm always happy," he truthfully reassured her.

"Good," she whispered. "I'm glad." Standing, she stretched and yawned, then eyed the couch speculatively. "Do you really have enough room to sleep on there with me?"

Draco looked at the couch too, then shrugged. "It's enough. I sleep on my side whether I'm with you or not, it doesn't matter if I'm a little bit squished. Anyway, I'm fine so long as you're comfortable."

"If you're sure," Hermione said dubiously.

"I am," Draco said.

"Next point: why aren't you wearing a shirt? Not that I mind," she amended quickly, "I'm just curious."

"Well…you're wearing my shirt, and I forgot to go and get another one before coming here. Speaking of shirts, do you want a new one, or just your other one with the buttons back on?"

"Oh, I can do it," Hermione said, feeling guilty at having Draco do it. "Or," she said, faking nonchalance, "I can just keep this one. Oh, and is this the one that you let me borrow at your Manor?"

"Yes," Draco said with a smirk as he sat up on the couch and stretched. "And fine. You can keep it. But I'll fix your blouse too. Shouldn't be too hard, I think. I'll get your shirt to you…sometime," he said with a yawn. "You ready to face the school yet?"

Wide eyed, Hermione shook her head and sat down on his lap. They wrapped their arms around each other, and she said, "No. I don't want to face them ever. To just see their faces…how much they hate us. I don't want that yet. Just hold me for a bit, and then we'll go together."

"Slytherin or Gryffindor?" Draco asked. When Hermione looked confused, he added, "To eat. We need to eat somewhere."

"Gryffindor will never accept you. And Slytherin will never accept me," she mulled it over.

But Draco cut into her thoughts with a small cough and a meaningful look. "There is one way the Slytherins would accept you…."

Hermione looked at Draco blankly. _What the hell is he talking abou…oh. OH. _"But—but my father…er…he wouldn't, I mean…" she stuttered, then stopped talking completely to gather her thoughts. "Voldemort wouldn't be very pleased about that. Not at all."

"Ah, but see, love, all we need is one person on our side," said Draco. Hermione wasn't sure she liked the look in his eyes. "One very influential person…"

* * *

"…So, you see why you have to keep everyone from hurting her. She has the Dark Lord's highest regard, being his daughter and all," Draco finished up with a significant look. "Why don't you go and tell everyone you approve," Draco said, with a lazy gesture of dismissal. 

"And if I don't?" Pansy said menacingly.

"Then I'll have to kill you," Hermione spoke up. "You know too much as is, and this wasn't my idea. I have killed before," she said truthfully. Pansy gave her a dubious glance. "What, you want to try me, Parkinson? I could give you pain like you would never—" Draco cut her off by putting an arm around her waist.

"Prove it then," Pansy sneered. "Prove to me that she's the Dark Lord's daughter, and then I'll do it."

Hermione quelled her despair and kept her face calm and bored. "I tire of this," she said with a yawn. Pulling her wand, she disarmed Parkinson before she knew what was happening and then aimed it at her throat. "Look, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Either you go off and tell everyone that I'm okay and I'm going to be eating with the Slytherins, and that no personal harm is to come to me or Draco, or I kill you and Draco backs me up that it was all in self defense." There was a flicker of fear in Pansy's eyes.

"I would be honored to do so. After all, I am only here to serve your bidding," Draco said subserviently.

Hermione didn't even have to pretend to be annoyed at this, and shot him an annoyed look. "Thank you," she intoned dryly. "Now, Parkinson. Choose what's going to happen."

Looking bewildered, Pansy actually thought about her decision. "Fine then. I'll do it. But you owe me."

"We owe you nothing for the trouble you've caused us. Now leave," Hermione snarled. "Oh, and Parkinson," she added right before the Slytherin left, "If anyone hurts Draco or myself, we're blaming it on you." Her eyes narrowed to slits, "And we don't forgive easily, so do a good job of it. We'll be down in ten minutes."

The door closed with a diminutive click, and Hermione fell back on the desk. "I never said it would be easy," Draco reminded her as if reading her thoughts. He sat down next to her on the desk and pulled her up into his lap. "And she still doesn't completely believe what we told her." He laughed softly and kissed her neck, making her shiver. "If I hadn't seen you there, I'm not sure I'd believe it myself. Who'd have thought? Hermione Granger, good girl, perfect student, would end up a Death Eater?" His voice lowered to barely a whisper, and Hermione almost missed what he said next. "Although you're not all bad, are you? You're actually playing both sides of the table now, aren't you. When were you going to tell me about your little chat with Dumbledore?"

Panic coursed through Hermione's veins, and she stiffened on Draco's lap. _He knows. How can he know! Merlin's beard, what am I supposed to do? Lie? I don't want to lie to him, I love him. Oh dear. I'm so dead._ Draco sighed sadly. "I thought so. I didn't really want to believe it, but your reaction is proof enough." His head dropped on her shoulder. "Fine. See if you can get me a meeting with your precious Dumbledore. You're not doing this alone."

"Wh—what?" She stuttered, not believing what she was hearing.

"What do you mean 'what'? I've made my decision. I'm not leaving you. Sure, I don't agree with him on…well, I almost don't agree with him about any of his principles. And if this was about him versus the Dark Lord, I'd follow the Dark Lord straight away. But this isn't about that. This is about you, and I'm not going to let you go through this alone."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears, and she squeezed his hand. "I love you," she whispered to him. He tilted his head on her shoulder to look at her more, and then pulled himself up higher to kiss her.

"I know you do," he told her wearily. "And I love you too. We should get to breakfast now, though. I hope that git Parkinson has done her job well. I'd rather not battle off people during breakfast."

"Yeah, especially since we had to sneak to the kitchens for food all yesterday." Hermione stood and stretched before realizing she still held Pansy's wand. Tucking both wands away in her robe, she and Draco picked up their book bags and got ready to leave. Pausing in front of the door, each took a steadying breath, and then they clasped hands before going out to face the school.

Breakfast was an odd affair. All of the house tables looked up on their arrival, and they walked bravely across the whole room to the Slytherin table, where they sat down somewhere in the middle, and Hermione was squished between a confused Crabbe and Draco. Silence had graced their walk, but now that they were seated, the hall broke out into a buzz of speculative conversation.

Remembering Parkinson's wand, Hermione pulled it out and passed it to her across the table. "Forgot to give it back," she muttered, then pretended to be completely immersed in the toast she was eating while really keeping an eye on the rest of the diners. Her nerves were on end, just waiting for someone to throw a spell at her or Draco. However, she need not have worried about breakfast. The professors, too, were on guard, and no spells were thrown.

Hermione should have been more worried about their exit into the hall. The other three houses were angrier than ever that she had gone to eat with the Slytherins, thinking it a betrayal of the highest level. By the end of the day, Draco and Hermione had each been sent to the Hospital Wing several times. The worst part, for Hermione, had been her free period, because she couldn't even find peace in the library, and was hit with three spells in there, two she'd been able to end, and one she had to go to the Hospital Wing for.

The only good time of the day was when she finally went to Professor McGonagall and asked to speak to Dumbledore. Draco was with her, and the strict woman gave them a pitying look, quickly saying, "All right then. Let's go see if he has time for you now."

They were led up the revolving staircase and back to the office where Hermione had been not long ago. She gave the Headmaster a tired look, and then said, "That thing we talked about a few days ago?" she asked. When Dumbedore nodded, she pressed on, "Draco wants to do that too."

Dumbedore sighed and rubbed his temples. "Okay then. You both have to be taught Occlumency, though. Otherwise the consequences will be terrible." Hermione and Draco were silent, not knowing what to say.

Coming to a decision, Dumbledore sighed again and said, "Be in my office at 8 PM Mondays and Wednesdays for your lessons. I will see you two tomorrow, then," he said.

Not liking how quick their dismissal had been, Hermione murmured, "Thank you, Professor," and walked out, Draco on her heels.

"I don't think he likes that there were two Death Eaters in the school that he didn't know about," she mumbled to Draco on their way down the stair. He shook his head. "Or maybe he just doesn't like that he now has to give us private lessons," she mused.

"Maybe," Draco agreed, pulling his wand as they left the safety of the stairs and went back into the hall. They went as quickly as they could to the Room of Requirement, what seemed to be their only haven recently. Hermione locked the door behind them with a complicated charm and they curled up on the couch together.

Before long, both were fast asleep. After all, it had been a trying day.

* * *

_Tonight is all about "We miss you"_

—Fall Out Boy "Homesick At Spacecamp"

* * *

**PLEASE READ THIS: **The end of summer is here. I start school on Monday, and am sad to say that that means that this story will probaby end up with really slow updates from now on. I'll try to update at least once a week, but I'm going to have homework to do, waterpolo to play/practice, and friends/family to hang out with. But I'll try to get on the computer and type as often as I can and will do my best to update as much as possible. I love you all, my readers, and I hope that you'll continue reading this story even though the summer is now over. 


	19. Chapter 18: Of Books and Blood

A/N: I'm sorry that the italicization was funny in the last chapter. No, not all of that was thought (although I'm sure (or I hope) you all noticed that). I guess putting in the page breaks messed it up. After I post this, I'm going to go back and fix it. Um…sorry this took so long to get out, I was gone last weekend so I didn't have any time to type it up at all. Next chapter will be up as soon as I can get it!

CHAPTER 18: Of Books and Blood

When the alarm went off, Hermione didn't want to wake up. Groaning, she reached over for it to turn it off, but a shadow passed over her and it turned off before she could complete the motion. The shadow hovered over her until she squinted her eyes open. "Morning," Draco said huskily, his voice mutated with disuse.

"Mmm," she replied, snuggling up to him.

Draco chucked and got up, leaving Hermione to curl up on herself for warmth. "No. No 'mmm'ing me. It's morning, and we've got to get to class." Hermione wrinkled her nose at him and blinked sleep from her eyes.

"Since when are you so eager to get to class?" she grumbled, sitting up."Never were before and now you don't even let me cuddle with you," she muttered mutinously, before stretching. Draco leaned down and cheerily gave her a kiss.

"I think we need to add a bed to this room," he mused as she grumpily pulled herself together. "I always worry that you're going to fall off the couch, even with my arm around you." Hermione shot him a dirty look, just because he was being far too jovial this morning. Having done so, her spirits were raised slightly, and with a resigned look she forced herself completely into wakefulness.

"I don't really care, so long as you stay close to me," she told him as she tugged her robe on. The blonde laughed and mentioned that he loved her before reassuring her that he would. "Good," she grouched. "Breakfast time. Great. My favorite time of day," she mumbled sarcastically.

"Yeah, well. Deal with it. At least it's one of the very few times over the course of the day that we get to be together without any hexes thrown at us," Draco reminded her.

Feeling guilty of her complaint now, she merely shrugged and cautiously peered out into the hall, ducking back in as a pair of students walked past. Then she and Draco slipped out into the hall and made their way to breakfast, chatting aimlessly (and sometimes senselessly) as they kept an eye out for other students intent on harming them. Thankfully, most were already at breakfast, and the few hexes that were thrown at them were quickly deterred.

Hermione and Draco tried to spend a lot of time at breakfast, and Hermione waited until everyone who wasn't in class would be very late before heading off to the library to spend her free period.

If she had been thinking, she would have realized that's exactly where anyone who wanted to find her would realize she was and wouldn't have gone there. But, alas, she only thought for the comfort the library had always given her and sought it out. She picked an inconspicuous table in the very back and pulled out a half-finished Herbology essay to work on.

The free period was nearly over before she heard a soft scuffling a few rows over from her. A shelf quivered and threatened to fall over as she heard the thump of something heavy hitting it. Curious, she packed up her bag and crept over to where the ruckus was loudest, and gasped when she came down the row.

At least four cloaked figures were in the row, and they were beating up on one last person. Hermione drew herself up to tell them off before she saw who the victim was—Draco. Her breath whooshed out of her chest as he struggled to his feet, bleeding from several cuts and bruised all over and attempted to continue to fight them off.

For a moment, it was all Hermione could do to stand there—it seemed as if her body would not respond to her. But then, with a strangled cry, she entered the fray furiously. Draco was tossed into another shelf, and books rained down on him as she elbowed someone in the stomach and punched another in the face. She was unsure of where all the sudden violence in her had come from, but didn't bother to worry about it. Draco had staggered to his feet and was fighting alongside her, and she took comfort from the fact that he was there.

There were too many of them, though, and through their best efforts, Hermione and Draco were pushed back. Hermione was nearly as cut up and bruised as Draco, though she'd not been in the brawl as long as he. The worst blows of all came from being pushed into shelves, because the force always sent books crashing down upon them.

There was someone coming up on Draco's side, but he wouldn't see them. "Draco," she warned, but it went unheard beneath a silencing spell she only now knew she had. The cloaked form shoved the blonde fiercely, and Draco stumbled into a shelf, and it quavered ominously.

Books showered down on him, and as if in slow motion, one opened up midway in flight, and when its open pages hit Draco's head—or should have—the book _rippled _the air around them and continued to fall slowly to the floor. However, it did not fall as it should have, and moved so slowly it seemed impossible, and Hermione could only watch in horror as Draco slowly disappeared into the book. It landed with a dusty thump where he had stood, but now her boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. "Draco," she called soundlessly, frantically scrambling over to where the book lay. As if sensing they had gone too far, the cloaked figures held back, and then slowly dissipated into the library without a sound.

One last showed a bit of ironic decency and un-silenced her before he (she?) too melted into the books. "Draco," she whimpered, pulling the book onto her lap and clutching it to her. "Oh, Draco." Several tears fell onto the book, and she heaved herself up to her feet.

"No," she muttered fiercely. Madam Pince finally came around to see what the commotion was about, but by then Hermione was rushing past her with no explanation and running as fast as her abused body would carry her to Dumbledore. Thankfully, class was still being held, so she met few people in the hall on her way. Hard to imagine though it was, she realized it the fight must have only been going on for less than ten minutes. Hysterically, she listed off several candies until one opened the gargoyle. She hastily took the stairs up to the headmaster's study, and landed on bruised knees inside his door without knocking. "Professor," she cried.

And then the tears began to fall as Dumbledore looked on in astonishment. She couldn't seem to get her breath enough to tell him the story, and just let her gulping sobs vibrate her body until she got control of herself. "Why Miss Granger," he breathed, "What by Merlin's beard happened?"

Hermione took the time to look herself over. She could still faintly taste blood in her mouth, and could see how bruised she was. "Oh, sir," she said hoarsely. "They attacked us in the library, and Draco…The book fell on him, and then he disappeared into it, and I don't know what to do!" _I'm all alone now, _she continued in her head. _He was protecting me from all of them just by being at my side. We were untouchable, so long as we were together. And now he's gone. Just like that. _Tears began to fall again, but this time she stayed serene and quiet as she achingly pulled herself to her feet. "I'm going to get him back," she said determinedly. "Whether you can help me or not, I'm going to do it."

Looking bemused, Dumbledore held out his hand for the book. Reluctantly, she let it over to his grasp and he looked it over, his frown deepening by the second. "Well?" she said impatiently.

Looking as old as his years, Dumbledore shook his head sadly, "I do not know this book. I can try to find some information on it, run some tests," as he spoke, he let the book fall open onto his desk and pensively ran his fingers over the pages, "But that is the best I can do for now. It may take a week, two, before I can find anything out," he told her apologetically.

"No. I'll get him back, and though your help will be appreciated, he will be back by the end of two weeks. He has to be," she said, and saw a flicker of fearful anticipation in Dumbledore's eyes.

"Now, don't do—" the Headmaster began.

"Don't tell me what not to do," Hermione spat at him. "I will do anything I can to bring him back. _Anything._ You may say this is a pathetic seventeen-year-old's love, and what can I know? But I know that I…that we love each other, and I will do anything to get him back. I don't care at what cost it comes. He's the only thing that's getting me through this year here," she rambled slightly in her anger and snatched the book from him before leaving the room huffily.

Pulling her wand (and feeling idiotic that she hadn't thought of using it during the fracas), she marched down the halls. She must have made a pretty fearsome sight as most students drew back from her as she passed. Uncaring, Hermione made her way to the Room of Requirement and locked herself in there. "Draco," she murmured to the book before she began to run her own series of tests on it.

Several hours later, Hermione was beginning to feel discouraged. She had tried everything she could think of to unlock the secret of the book—she'd even tried dropping it on her head! But to no avail. Her body ached from the fight, and she pulled herself onto the couch heedless of her cuts. Cuddling the book close to her, it wasn't long before she fell asleep.

* * *

Draco looked around in amazement. One minute he'd been in a fight, and the next…_here. _Wherever here was. _Hermione, _he thought desperately. "I have to find her," he said aloud without meaning to.

"My apologies, sirrah, but what was that you said?" A young man in his early twenties looked down on him from up a tree. The man's clothing caught Draco's eye, and he looked him over. He was wearing some sort of old style clothing, but Draco couldn't seem to place it. He looked around him in confusion. So…a different time period, was it? Well, he could play along with that.

"I seem to have forgotten the date," Draco said genially while mentally sneering. Most of these people were probably muggles, which meant he would have to get by on his own. No one would respond to the Malfoy name here. The man climbed down and landed next to Draco with a soft thud.

"Why that's an easy one, it's…um…" The man seemed confused, and then a smile lit his features. "Well, I actually don't seem to remember myself, but if you have some spare time, we could always stop by my house and see if my wife is home," he said, shaking his short, dark hair in amusement at himself. "Can't believe I forgot the date," he mumbled as he turned to lead the way.

Shaking his head in confusion, Draco followed the tall man. Abruptly, they stopped moving, and Draco nearly ran into the man in front of him. He made a crackling, whispering sound in the back of his throat, calling, "Open up!"

"Who is it?" The voice sounded nasally and obnoxious, but somehow whimsical at the same time.

"Oh, come now," there was that crackling, whispery sound again. It took Draco a minute to realize it must have been a name. "You know who I am," the man chided.

"Fine," the voice sounded disgruntled, and it took Draco a while to realize that it was the tree that was talking. While he was busy covering his shiver, the tree in front of them suddenly stood up and moved out of the way, exposing a large hole where the roots should have been.

_What the hell is going on here? _Draco wondered. He wasn't quite sure what had happened, but he was by now positive that this was a fantasy world. On, this, at least, his certainty increased as he followed the cheery man down into the roots, where there was a house. As the tree crawled back into place over the hole, Draco could see that the steps they were descending continued up into the trunk of the tree.

"What the…" he didn't even finish the sentence as they stopped on a landing and looked down.

"Welcome into my home," the man said with a flourish, indicating the room below proudly. All Draco could do was blink in disbelief. While the outside world and the man and the tree were realistic enough, every item inside the home was cartoonish. An outrageous pink plastic table stood in the room, and there were five mismatched chairs around it, varying from a pale blue one resembling a seal to an amorphous one in a blinding shade of orange (he wasn't positive this last was a chair, but assumed it was). The stove looked immensely fake, and was a badly colored brick color, with pieces of a white under-layer poking out through chips he could see from here. All the other furniture satisfied this ridiculous, random pattern, lending a surreal feeling to this new place.

"So what happened to you," the man finally asked, leading the way down to the room below. "You look like you got in a fight with a cozzelt," he laughed at his own joke.

"A cozzelt?" Draco asked dubiously. Suddenly, he did not want to know, as he finally reached the room below. Mayhap it was a beast as imaginative as the person who decided the furniture in this room matched.

"Yeah, you know, that…ah, well, we'll get you right fixed up," he said, shying away from the subject of the animal. Suddenly feeling wearied, Draco didn't argue and just sat down in the bright orange chair (he still wasn't quite sure that's what it was) and let the man tend his face. In fact, looking at his arms, he had several scratches on them that oozed blood, and hoped his face didn't look as bad, and knew it did. With a reluctant sigh, he allowed his mind to drift. "Draco," he seemed to hear faintly. "Hermione," he called back exhaustedly.

But then he was startled back into his hurting body by a chuckle. "Is that her name then, sirrah?"

"I'm sorry?" Draco asked, not following the conversation.

"The lady that you wanted and got into a fight over. I figured that's what happened. The cozzelt thing earlier was a joke," he informed Draco, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I haven't heard of anyone who ever survived one of those attacks."

Rather abruptly, there was a shrill squeal. "Bukkex, how could you not come tell me that we had a visitor!" a startled voice yelped. Suddenly, nearly all of Draco's vision was filled with a curly haired girl with wide brown eyes. "Hello-a, there!" She called, a straight-toothed smile dimpling her freckled cheeks. "I'm Xokos," she said, stepping back and making an odd gesture with her hand. Draco just looked on in amazement, and she seemed disappointed. Faintly, he realized he was supposed to repeat the gesture but was too exhausted to remember it now.

"Draco," he introduced himself.

Bukkex smacked his forehead with his palm. "I knew I was forgetting something! I never introduced myself! Well, as my little wife here just told you, I'm Bukkex, and I'm sorry, I missed your name?"

"Draco," he repeated. In comparison with their language (which was obviously something other than English, though he seemed to understand it anyway), his name was far more whimsical than their harsh names.

"Trako," the man repeated, looking to him for approval. Too exhausted to correct the mispronounced word, he just nodded.

"Wow, you look tired," Xokos said childishly. It was all Draco could do not to snap at her for her idiocy. "Well, I'll go and make you up a bed. Be back in just a jiffy," she said with an overzealous wink. Except that her looks reminded him of Hermione, he didn't particularly like her.

"Isn't she great," Bukkex murmured, staring after her. Draco pooled his features to calmness and just gave him a small smile. "Well then, would you like something to eat, Trako?" he said, stumbling over the name. Draco merely shook his head, wondering what the hell had happened to get him to this…place and wanting nothing more than to sleep to clear his aching head.

That night, he dreamed of Hermione.

* * *

_Looking forlornly over the cliff, Hermione bit her lip nervously. "Draco?" she called quietly._

"_I'm here, love," he called to her, reaching up the cliff and laboriously pulling himself up. Hermione bit her lip then winced as her teeth rubbed against a cut on it. She dropped to her knees, and he saw that she wasn't actually Hermione, but that man's wife, Xekos? Xokles? Something like that._

_The girl, whatever her name, leaned forward. "What are you doing down there?" she asked, curiously. It seemed that now that he knew she wasn't Hermione, she was turning back to her own perky, pesky personality. She cocked her head and leaned over the cliff to get a better view of him._

_And in that instant, she was Hermione. "Draco," Hermione's voice called, and she reached down to pull him up. "Don't let go," she told him, firmly grasping his hand with both of hers. He could feel the texture of her fingers, so like her regular ones, and as he used his feet and his other hand to pull himself up, he could feel her breath on his cheek, and he could see the worry in her eyes._

It was real, _he knew suddenly. _This is my Hermione, and she's dreaming this too. _"Hermione, love, we're dreaming," he told her, not understanding it, but knowing somehow that it was true._

_She paused, and her grip slipped a little. "Yes," she said hesitantly, "we must be." Still frowning, she let go of his hand unthinkingly and sat back on her heels, and Draco's fingers scrabbled against the rocks to gain purchase again. "But I don't remember why…" she seemed to think. "You're not with my body," she told him. "Why not?"_

"_Hermione, I don't remember…all I know is that I'm not with you and I want to be…I need to be. Love, being with you is like breathing. I can't _not _do it. I will come back to you," he promised._

"_Will you still be mine when you come back, though?" she asked him, her eyes examining him apprehensively._

"_I'm always yours," he told her. His fingers were beginning to ache from holding onto the rough rocks, but he didn't dare let go. They may not get this chance again._

"_Hermione, love, I need you to do something for me. Go into my room, and in the bottom of my trunk is a dagger. Take it and carry it with you always. Don't let it…just, be careful, love." She nodded vigorously, reaching over the cliff again for his hand._

"_Bottom of your trunk. Dagger. Got it," she repeated._

"_Don't forget," he warned her._

"_I won't, I promise." But still she eyed him reproachfully._

"_I'll come back to you as soon as I can, love. I promise," he said seriously and knew they didn't have much longer. Once again, it was something he just knew without knowing how he knew. Letting go of the cliff with the hand she wasn't closing, he clenched her hands with his own, and could hear her gasp of surprise before he jerked her over the cliff._

_They fell, and Draco wrapped his arms around her tight, giving her a brief kiss to seal his promise.

* * *

"Ow…" Hermione groaned. She sat up and felt at the lump on her head from when she'd hit the floor. Somehow, Draco's grasp in her dream had translated to real life too and he'd pulled her over the edge of the couch. Wincing, she pulled out the book from under her and gasped as she remembered her dream._

"The dagger," Hermione breathed. "A dagger?" she then questioned. "Why does he want me to have a dagger? No matter. I promised." Struggling to her feet, she felt all her aches and pains from the brawl. She staggered over to her robe and pulled it as well as a cloak on over her clothes before slipping out into the hall.

As no one was up this early in the morning, her trip down to the dungeons was uneventful. She quietly traversed the Slytherin common room and headed up to the boys' dormitory. Silently, she rummaged through Draco's trunk to the bottom and felt despair well up inside of her. There was nothing there. So it had only been a dream.

Sighing quietly, she began to put the trunk back to rights when she realized that the bottom she was feeling was too high. On her knees and right hand in front of the trunk, her left hand on the bottom of the trunk, she noticed that the bottom of the trunk was inexcusably high. So, it was a false bottom. Mentally grumbling at the inconvenience, she wiggled her fingers around the edges for a catch, and found it in the corner nearly fifteen minutes later.

There was a minuscule click and she could feel the faux bottom shrink slightly in the trunk so that it could be lifted out. Easing it up, Hermione felt around and finally came out with the only item beneath it—a big square box that was only about two inches high. Smirking to herself, she clicked the artificial bottom into place and organized Draco's stuff again before sneaking back upstairs.

In the relative safety of the Room of Requirement, she opened up the box. In it were several items—a small framed picture of Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco when he was about five, a vial of some potion, several long, silvery hairs, a little rubber duck, a large claw (dragon?) and two other boxes.

Hermione took out the smaller one first, and opened it up. Inside were several papers, written in a hand she had never seen before, some pictures of a young Draco with Crabbe and Goyle, the three laughing about whatever prank they had just pulled, some other pictures with Draco and some other children, and an even smaller, square box. Lingering over the pictures, she picked up the box curiously. She knew that it could not be the dagger (the box was too small), but she was a naturally inquisitive person and peeked inside.

"Wow," she breathed. Inside was a beautiful gold ring, with several small diamonds perched in the middle of it in the shape of a heart. In the top of the box cover, she read, "_Narcissa, now you can wear my love for you even when we're apart_" in a curvy, boyish hand. Feeling as if she'd overstepped her bounds, she placed it back in the other box and placed that one in the other box, taking up the last one.

This last box was far heavier than she'd expected, and Hermione knew instantly that this was what she had been looking for. Hesitant suddenly, she paused before opening it. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. But she had promised him, even if it wasn't the real him. _Then again, it had to be the real him. How else would a dream have told me about a secret compartment in his trunk that I didn't even know existed? _She thought. She tilted the lid open and peered inside.

The dagger was long and slender, and the handle was of a dragon, the hilt was its wings extended to the sides and its long tail curled about the blade to about halfway down. It had truly marvelous workmanship, as the handle was still comfortable to grip even with the design of the dragon. Holding it in her hands, she imagined she could feel Draco's heartbeat, so steady that she wanted to cry.

"Oh my Draco," she said softly, laying the dagger across her lap to pull out a note that had been lodged under it.

_Hermione, I hope that you never have need for this blade, but if something happens to me then it must be in your hands and yours alone. It is keyed into my every move, and if ever I am not amongst the living, its power will be released. This dagger will protect you as I would were I there with you, exerting a shield all around your body so long as it is touching your skin somewhere. I don't know what has happened to me, that you had to take this dagger, but I promise that it will serve you well, as I cannot._

_I love you, now and forever. Do not forget me in death._

"You're not dead," Hermione protested feebly, but she could already feel the tears beginning to come. "I will get you back," she snarled to the note. "I will." Suddenly feeling angry, she tore off her cloak and robe and looked around for somewhere to put the dagger. But then she hesitated. Draco wasn't dead, so would it even work? Biting her lip, she decided to test it out.

Hermione tucked the blade into her shirt, under the middle piece of her bra. The wings rested comfortably against the top of her breasts, and the handle came up to just under her collarbone. It was kind of surprising to see exactly how small the blade was, as the tip of the dagger didn't quite come down to her navel. Steeling herself for more pain, she kicked at the armchair, purposefully banging her shin against it. But the impact never came, as the armchair skidded back a bit from her touch.

"Interesting," she murmured appreciatively. "So is Draco really alive?" frowning in thought, she read over the note again. "Except for the last bit, all it said was that when he's not among the living," she murmured to herself. _Well, I guess this works. I'm kept from harm as I wait for him to get back, and he's…well, not alive, but he's not dead either._

Carefully, she packed everything back up as she had found it and lay down again for one more hour of sleep before class started.

* * *

Draco grunted as he hit the floor. Wincing, he clawed his way back onto the bed, noting how tangled the sheets were about his legs and the precarious way his pillow hovered on the edge like a bird poised for flight. So as he'd been clinging to the edge of a cliff in his dream, he'd probably been clinging to the edge of the bed in real life.

_A cliff…_he thought to himself. "Oh," he murmured as he remembered the dream. "No, it was too real to be just a dream," he decided. _Oh, fuck! I forgot to tell Hermione that the dagger was under the compartment. _"Damnit," he grumbled as he settled in for sleep again. "Well, she's a smart girl. I'm sure she'll figure it out…hopefully…" he mumbled, already beginning to lose himself to sleep.

"Why good-a morning there, Trako!" a voice cried. Wincing, he opened his eyes a slit to see someone that looked like Hermione hovering over his bed.

"What time is it?" he growled.

"Far too long to be in bed!" Xokos (was that her name?) chuckled enthusiastically. "But if you must know," her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "It's almost two in the morning."

Groaning, Draco picked himself up from the bed. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

_But I'd rather have you here with me, right next to me  
I miss the way you hold me tight_

—Natalie, "Going Crazy"


	20. Chapter 19: Kessen

A/N: Argh! I went back and fixed the random italicization on chapter 17, but then when I looked at chapter 18 to refresh my memory on what was happening, I saw that it did it again. This time I'm double-checking that it only italicized what I wanted after page breaks. Well, here's the next chapter. And I'm REALLY sorry it took so long to get out.

Chapter 19: Kessen

That day, Draco found himself doing several rather odd tasks. He was told to help Bukkex hunt, which he didn't mind at all. But either Bukkex was completely incompetent as a hunter, or the word 'hunt' meant something else in this world, but as Draco followed him along, he used a bow to shoot rubber snakes at trees in an effort to knock down branches for firewood (however, as the snakes were not very heavy, this venture was half-successful at best). Draco was completely bewildered by this, but said nothing. Later, he found himself helping Xokos sew, which really ended up with him standing around in a dress while she hemmed it (that was embarrassing). After that, he helped Xokos paint a chair the color of a ripe cherry, but the paint in itself confused him, it being the texture of jelly.

That night found the three of them seated in front of a fire sipping some type of drink they called 'coppet'. It was actually really good, reminding Draco somewhat of hot chocolate, but with an aftertaste of strawberries. "So…" Bukkex said, "Where are you from?"

"Nowhere around here," Draco said, taking a large gulp of coppet. "But I need to get back, and I don't know how."

"You're-a leaving already?" Xokos exclaimed worriedly. When he glanced over, Draco would have sworn it was Hermione there. "But we haven't even done…" she trailed off at a look from Bukkex.

"Well…do you know in which direction you need to go?" Bukkex asked.

"I don't have any idea. It feels like I'm from a whole different world," Draco said truthfully.

"There is…one way you could find out," Bukkex said cautiously.

Xokos looked over at her husband, and Draco could see she was terrified. A shiver scrambled up his spine, and he looked worriedly between the two of them. But he could see Hermione looking just as terrified as that, surrounded by Gryffindors and maybe even Slytherins alike, all ready to hurt her. "How?" he asked boldly.

"Don't!" Xokos shouted before Bukkex could continue. "You are not going to send him there! If you do, I'll…I'll…I'll run away and never-a come back! Sending him there is death, and you know it, and I'll not live-a with a murderer," she yelled. Chest heaving, she stopped and glared at Bukkex defiantly. Her pose lacked the grace of Hermione's, but in her look and manner, he could clearly make out Hermione. His heart ached, and for an instant he wanted to pull her to him and just snog her as hard as he could. Shaken by this sudden impulse, Draco merely sat in his chair and looked between the two of them.

"He wants to get back, what else do you propose?" Bukkex said calmly.

Xokos bit her lip, turning to look at Draco. He could see a yearning in her eyes that frightened him. "Stay," she pleaded. She looked so much like Hermione in the firelight that he wanted to say yes. "Please," she asked, edging toward him slightly. She even walked like Hermione. The words were on the tip of his tongue… Her eyes were so deep brown, and looking at him just like Hermione would. Almost involuntarily, he opened his mouth to answer her…

* * *

Hermione was pleased to go through such a relaxing day. Every hex and spell that was thrown at her somehow managed to go astray, although some did manage to be misdirected onto her bag, which had then split several times. Even so, the day was so much easier than it would have been. She was able to sit and do her homework without worrying that someone was finally going to kill her. 

That night, she was even bold enough to try to sleep in her dormitory.

When she opened the door, all conversation was cut off. Lavender and Parvati sat on a bed and smirked, while Hermione stopped short. There were only two beds in the room. All her clothing was strewn on the floor around where her bed had once been, and there was a single bedpost left behind.

"What did you two _do_?" she said uncomprehendingly, staring at the mess.

"Well," Parvati said coolly, "Most of your bed is somewhere on the quidditch pitch. See, we couldn't leave it whole or you would have just summoned it. So it's all been broken apart. Oh, and then you have to find all the pieces before you could even try for a repairing spell. Hm…what else was there, Lav?" Parvati looked at her nails nonchalantly.

"Oh, right, most of your clothes are all torn up. We don't really know what happened," Lavender said, with wide guiltless eyes, "But they're all ruined. And it looks like a spare bottle or two of ink shattered…" She leaned her head on Parvati's shoulder and looked innocently at Hermione. "What a pity," she said coldly.

Hermione could do nothing but stare at the two of them for a while, and then before she knew it, she'd pulled her wand and was using the full body-bind on the both of them. "It's a pity you guys had to be such bitches," she said calmly. "I mean, we never were the greatest of friends, but even so, I thought we had been okay with each other. I guess even that's over now," she said. Turning to her trunk, she slowly packed everything back up in it, stains and rips and all. Sighing, she levitated the trunk behind her and brought it back to the Room of Requirement.

Once safely there, she set about doing the time consuming task of repairing all of her clothing and removing the ink stains. It took nearly two hours to get through all of it. Her other belongings hadn't been touched, thankfully. Grumbling to herself, she carefully repacked everything and curled up on the couch to fall asleep. _Maybe I can sleep with the Slytherins tomorrow._

_But then again, Draco and I have only been public for two days, three if you count that day in the library. How could they possibly accept me there?_

Resigning herself to cold nights alone in the Room of Requirement, she fell asleep.

* * *

That night Draco lay in bed thinking over his decision. She had looked at him so invitingly…he had been so tempted to say yes. But at the last minute he had remembered that Xokos was not Hermione and had said no. It had been close though…so close. A door creaked open, and he could hear the soft patter of footsteps. Opening his eyes, he saw Hermione standing there, with the light from the hallway lighting her face. 

"Trako?" a voice asked, and he knew it was not Hermione, just Xokos. She closed the door behind her and walked over to his bed in the dark. He couldn't really see her, but he could feel her presence. Sitting up, he squinted in the dark but wasn't able to see anything. "Are you really going to go?" she said in a small voice. Even her voice sounded like Hermione's. If it wasn't for her accent and certain mannerisms, he would swear that she was Hermione.

"I have to," he told her. He felt the bed tilt as she sat down near him. "I have friends and family to get back to."

"Stay-a here, with us. Please," she said, edging toward him.

"I can't. I have people to get back to," he said again, but by now she was uncomfortably close.

"Why can't you stay-a?" she asked again. "You make me feel weird, but a good kind-a of weird. I've never felt like this-a before. It's like I know you. You feel it too, I know you do. Just the way you look at me, as if I look familiar but you don't remember me. I think we have met before," she said, and before he knew it, her arms were around him, and they were kissing each other.

All thoughts dissipated from Draco's mind. Suddenly it felt like him and Hermione waking up together, like all their little moments that meant everything to him. "Hermione," Draco mumbled.

"Hm?" the girl asked, drawing back slightly. "What-a was that?" _Wait a minute, _Draco thought, _She's not Hermione._ _Her body feels like it, in my arms, and her mouth does too, on mine, but she's not Hermione. And she's married too._

Sickened, Draco pushed her away, "I can't do this," he told her firmly. "Get out." The silence stretched, and then he heard the door open and close softly. The hall light was off, too, which meant that Bukkex had probably already gone to his bed. Groaning, Draco rolled onto his side and took his pillow out from under his head, laying it down by his side and wrapping his arm around it so that he could pretend that it was Hermione. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said into the darkness. "It won't happen again."

Draco lay awake long into the night and fell into a fitful doze sometime in the early hours of the morning.

* * *

Soft noises out in the hallway. Opening his eyes a crack, Draco clutched his imaginary Hermione closer to him and tried to bring his hearing into focus. He sighed when he realized it was no use and the door was too thick for him to hear through. The loud male voice sounded angry, and for an instant he thought of his father. But no, his house was never this dark… 

Groaning, he pulled his pillow over his head. "When the fuck is this nightmare going to end?" he snarled into it before angrily chucking it across the room. He stared sullenly after it into the darkness until he heard it hit something. There was the startling noise of glass shattering, and Draco sighed, deciding he would take care of it sometime when he wasn't so tired.

* * *

"Trako." The voice was insistent, and Draco groaned and rolled over. "Trako, it is time to get up. You have slept far overlong, and we were beginning to worry you would never awaken. Will you awake?" 

"'Sleeping overlong' had better not mean two in the morning again," Draco snarled quietly, knowing the other man would not be able to hear him.

Bukkex continued like this for some time until Draco finally shouted, "I'm awake!" The older man (was he older? At times Draco was unsure) rambled on for some time, but Draco ignored him as he groped in the darkness for his shirt. Having found it, he rolled out of bed and tugged it on before he snapped open the door. "Yes?" he asked, as politely as he could manage. A thundering headache reminded him of how little sleep he had gotten the night before.

"Yes, well, sirrah, I was just wondering if you wanted to take me up on my offer from last night? Xokos is out, so I may speak frankly with you about it before her return," Bukkex whispered. Draco suppressed his smile as the other man cast his eyes cautiously about, as if worried that his wife may find him discussing this.

"I would," the blond boy reassured the man. Anything to get back to his Hermione.

Bukkex leaned close. "You must find a cozzelt," he murmured, before leaning back again and looking immensely satisfied with himself.

Draco shut his eyes tight to keep from rolling them. When he opened them again, he kept his expression calm and asked, "And what, exactly, is that?"

The other man's eyes widened in a mixture of dismay and doubt. "You don't know?" he sounded hurt. Gaining impatience, Draco merely gritted his teeth and shook his head. "Well, then," Bukkex said, clearly flustered. "They know everything," he offered, as if he were negotiating with a child for its silence.

When he said nothing else, Draco prodded, "And…?"

"Um…they're a bit dangerous," he added, not meeting Draco's eyes. A scrap of conversation from the other day sprang to mind. '_I haven't heard of anyone who ever survived one of those attacks,'_ Bukkex had said.

"And where can I find one of these?" Draco added restlessly.

"In the water," Bukkex replied. "I can make you a pack and point you in the right direction, but the confrontation with the cozzelt must be all your own," he said, and quickly went off the do so. Left behind in the hall, Draco wondered if he had really just wanted to evade more questions. Shrugging to himself, he followed the man. He could find out plenty on cozzelts by himself.

* * *

The journey to the sea took three days. If he'd had a horse, or a carriage, or whatever people normally used for transportation here (besides walking), Draco was sure it would have been much quicker. And Bukkex either had none of these or was unable to spare one for the journey. After all, Draco would not be going back. 

The long walk was somewhat of a relief to Draco. He had been unable to do magic for those few days he had lived with Bukkex, but now that he was away from those muggles, he could use as much magic as he liked while traipsing around in the forest. Though he knew no spells for flight (similar to the type used for broomsticks), he could still dull the pain in his feet so that he could continue walking without the pain. He even knew a few minor healing spells, which he used on the bruises and cuts from the fight. He had to use rather large fires at night to keep him warm, as he had left his Hogwarts robe at Bukkex's house.

On the third night, Draco stumbled into a small coastal town. He stayed on the outskirts and pleaded with people to let him spend a single night in their house, even going so far as to promising them that he would not even need food, just a place to stay for the night. However, none would take him, and he ended up sleeping in the hayloft of a barn.

When he woke the next day, he ate an apple (or something like an apple) that Bukkex had given him before going into town. Wandering aimlessly, he found a bustling marketplace, where he then haunted in an effort to find someone who would tell him about cozzelts.

At length, he had decided on three people who may give him the information he sought, a man and two women. He approached the younger woman first. "Hello," he said casually, leaning against her stall and giving a charming smile.

"Good morning," she replied cautiously. Draco was now having doubts about if this woman would tell him of cozzelts.

"I apologize," he said sincerely, "but I am new to your land and was sent on a quest here to find something. I was wondering if you could help me," he gave her a pleading look.

"That depends on what you are looking for," she said coolly. "Certainly I may help if it is nothing my husband may object to." She made it quite clear she thought he was flirting with her. He felt a pang for Hermione and the familiarity of his home, be it at Malfoy Manor or Hogwarts.

"I am actually looking for something called a cozzelt. Would you happen to know of it?" he asked, carefully watching her face.

The young woman's eyes widened and she stepped back in alarm. Before he could say anything, she ran off into the crowd. A man, presumably her husband, looked after her worriedly but could not run off after her and leave their wares untended. Instead, he turned to Draco. "What did you say to her?" he snarled.

"N-Nothing," Draco said nervously. It seemed the whole market had hushed.

"Obviously you said something to make my sister run off like that," he growled. _Okay, _Draco thought, _maybe not her husband. Overprotective brother. This may be even worse…_ he mentally groaned.

"I am sorry," he interjected. "I truly meant no harm, I was just asking if she could help me find something. I'm on a bit of a quest, see, and I really don't know what I'm looking for or where I could find it. I was hoping that she may help," he said softly.

"And what exactly were you looking for?" the brother asked, his tone quieting a bit. The marketplace seemed to move again.

"Something called a cozzelt. I was told it could help me find…" Draco trailed off. The man's face was pale, and he looked almost like he pitied Draco.

"This quest of yours," he said delicately, "is best given up. But if you still wish to seek it, go to the dock and take a right. Find a house with green paint and black trim, and ask for Kessen. She will aid you. I beg you to reconsider what you do, but if you are determined to do this quest, then I wish you all the luck in the land." With this, he turned to engage another customer in conversation. Draco muttered his thanks, and went off to find a green and black house.

It was hard to miss the house that the man had described. It was painted a bright green, and seemed to give off a glow onto the houses around it. The black paint on the shutters, door, and trim only accented it and made it all the creepier. He took a deep breath and thought of Hermione as he approached the door.

A maid opened the door. She was strangely tall, and he could see nothing of the inside of the house around her figure. "I am looking for Kessen," he told her anxiously. The woman paled slightly, but nodded and shut the door in his face.

Draco was uncertain if he should move or not. After a minute, he turned to go, but the tall woman opened the door again and led him inside. The house was nearly as comical as Bukkex's, but instead of many colors, everything was painted in varying shades of red. There were even tapestries on the wall, depicting humorous events, such as cannibalistic cookies with Christmas frosting eating Halloween-frosted cookies.

Kessen's room was like the rest of the house, and the woman herself lay in bed. All her clothing was black, deeply in contrast to the bright crimson of her bed. She wore a black veil over her face, so in truth he saw nothing of the lady. "Tell me," her voice was somewhat hoarse, but strong and young. He wondered at her age. "What do you seek me out for?"

"I would like to know about cozzelts," he said carefully. "Someone directed me to come to you."

"And why would a young man like yourself wish to know about such dreadful creatures?"

"I come from a distant land. Far too distant to travel by any normal methods, and I did not come here by choice. I left my sweetheart at home, and I fear for her life. I must get back, and I was told that cozzelts know everything, even how I may get home," he said shakily.

"I see," Kessen said, and fell silent. "If you are sure…?"

"I am. I love her. My conscience will not let me leave her in danger like this."

"All right then. Mana, leave us." Draco had hardly realized the tall maid was there, but now she curtsied to her mistress and left. "What country did you come from?" she asked suddenly.

"England," he replied automatically.

"I see…" she said slowly. "I came from Britain as well. Attended Beauxbatons. Never was the best student, but I was sure glad to be there. England though…are you from Hogwarts? Your accent seems most fitted to around that area."

"How did…who _are _you?" He said in amazement.

"I told you," she snapped, "I was at Beauxbatons. I don't know how I got here, but I was only fifteen. I made a life for myself here, changed my name. I tried to…I tried to go back, but I failed the test. There are others of us. But I am the only one in this town. Now, let's talk about cozzelts. They're admirably intelligent creatures, but can turn violent. A bit like hippogriffs, they are—" she was cut off by a soft groan from Draco. After a moment of silence, she carried on as if she had not heard him. "A bit like hippogriffs they are, you must show them proper respect or they'll turn violent.

"However, if you are careful, and are respectful to them the whole time, they shall grant you your wish. But, of course, there are trials then. I made it all the way to my third test before I failed. The cozzelt said I didn't want it enough, and indeed I didn't. Certainly, I wanted to be home, but I had no sweetheart to hold on to, and no one wants to go back to ridicule and a miserable life.

"So that is my lesson for you. You have to want it enough. Hold onto the thought of that sweetie of yours, and you may make it. Now, cozzelts live in underwater caves. Have you ever tried to put a cup into water upside-down? No? Well, it creates an air pocket when you do, and sometimes (it's very rare, but it does happen) that happens in the water. That's where cozzelts live. So you need to find one of those. I can show you where one is, but you'll have to get there yourself," she said. "When do you plan on going?"

"Now is fine," he told her. "If you're okay with that," he amended.

"All right," she said, heaving herself out of bed. He looked at her clothing in amusement. She wore gloves, and her dress had long sleeves and long skirts. What he could see of her shoes were just as black as the rest of her outfit, and she kept the veil on. He could not see any of her skin, or even her hair. Draco followed her back through the house and out the front door.

Kessen walked out to the dock, and stopped at the very edge. She shaded her eyes from the sun, even though she wore a veil, and then pointed at a small island in the distance. "On the far side of that island, deep under the water is a cave. If you are careful, you may even breathe the large bubbles that come up. Cozzelts, unlike most sea creatures, breathe in the water and instead of keeping the oxygen from it, spit out the oxygen," she informed him. "And their caves can only have so much oxygen before there is a crack through which it can seep out. And that's what the bubbles are," she explained.

"I guess I'm ready then," Draco said shakily. He took off his sneakers and tied them by their laces to the belt loop of his pants.

"Oh," Kessen said, "take this too. You never know when you might need it," she told him cryptically and handed him a dagger. "Careful, it's very sharp."

He tucked the blade and its sheath deep in his pocket. "Thank you very much for all your help," he told her. "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"Just tell the cozzelt that Kessen says hello," she said. Draco nodded, and turned back to look at the island again. When he glanced over his shoulder, Kessen was gone. "I guess that's that," he murmured and dove into the water.

The island, Draco found, was much farther than he had originally thought. His shoes weighed him down unevenly, and he wished he had the energy to retie one on his other side, but did not want to lose one of his favorite sneakers in the water. The jeans were not only uncomfortable, but extravagantly heavy, and he almost wanted to take them off. But arriving back at Hogwarts without pants was less than appealing. So he just swam on.

It was nearly dark before he reached the island, and he shivered, desperately hoping he had done his wand no harm. But he had a fire going rather quickly, and nestled down in the sand for the night. Exhausted as he was, he did not feel how rough the sand was under his arm, and was merely grateful for the rest. The dark shadow of meeting the cozzelt loomed before him, and he tried to get sleep. After all, getting back to the real world depended all on this creature, and it would be best not to displease it.

The sun beat down on him, and Draco found it impossible to keep on sleeping. He yawned and stretched, put out the fire, and brushed the sand from him. Trying not to think too much on the task ahead of him, he placed a bubblehead charm on himself before reentering the water.

The water was icy this morning, as it had not been yesterday. Draco tried to ignore the chill—impossible—and swam down as far as he could, but saw nothing. His muscles were aching, and he slowly circled the rocky underside of the island. Nothing. Just before he turned back, he saw a pale…something floating in the water. He curiously went over to it, and saw it to be a large bubble, soaring up to the surface. Draco smirked and followed a slow trail of bubbles down even further.

A large black hole gaped on his left. He began to go in, and suddenly his bubble popped. Draco panicked. Writhing, he gasped for air and choked on water. Desperately, he swam farther into the cave, his cramped muscles working in fierce spasms. The water was so cold, so cold…he wanted air, needed air. He thought of Hermione, and worked even harder to get into the cave. His head hit a rock, and he looked up frantically to see where he was going. There…an air pocket! More relieved than he ever had been, he tilted his mouth up and sucked in the precious bit of air. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, but it calmed him down a bit. He frenetically checked his surroundings, and finally saw more air upwards. Draco kicked his legs…his air supply was already running out.

His left calf cramped fiercely, and he gasped at the pain. Water invaded his mouth, and he struggled to the surface. Just when he thought he was never going to make it and would drown down there, he came to the surface. Choking and gasping for air, he pulled his weary body out of the water and onto some rocks around the edge. They scraped and hurt, but he couldn't have minded any less, being too preoccupied with his newfound ability to breathe.

"Who enters my home?" A voice said. It made Draco's ears ache and reminded him strongly of nails on a chalkboard.

"My lord, I wish to return to my home, and I heard you could help me," Draco panted, rolling off the rock and bowing low for the creature.

"Help you indeed I can, but you must prove yourself to me. That you managed to enter my home says that you are determined, but now I must find how badly you want to return to this home of yours," the cozzelt said. Draco suspected that this creature had blocked out magic in his home, and that was why his bubblehead charm had failed.

"My lord, I would be grateful indeed to do whatever tasks you set me, so long as you return me home to Hogwarts, and my time," he said respectfully, not moving from his bow.

"Ah, yes. Yet another witch-student. We certainly get plenty of those. Follow me," the cozzelt said.

"Certainly, my lord," Draco murmured, though finding this absurd. It was completely dark in the cave, despite the fact that from under the water he had been able to see that this was a huge air pocket. Indeed, he had even been able to see the rocks upon his arrival! It was almost as if this cozzelt was sucking up the light from the room. His eyes were useless in this darkness. Draco shut them to avoid the temptation, and put his arms out to avoid running into something, following the cozzelt by hearing alone.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and Draco had the fleeting impression that he should turn back, that this was a bad, bad idea.

For some reason, his mind struck on Hermione in his tangled thoughts, and he desperately clung to the thought of her and quickly catalogued the rest of his thoughts. The urge to go back was strong, far fiercer than it should be. Probably compulsion magic had been placed on the entrance to…wherever this thing led. His curiosity was nearly overwhelming as well, and was far more enticing. Fear, of the cozzelt was also strong.

And the bright spark of hope that by doing this he may get back to Hermione.

Focusing on that, and only that, Draco forced his way into the tunnel. The going was rough, with compulsions trying to pull him back the whole way. Gamely, he sheltered the small flame of hope in his heart and pushed on. A steady, ever-louder noise filled the air.

It took Draco a long time to understand that the noise was he, chanting "Hermione" as if it were a counter spell for the compulsions. His harsh bark of laughter at the realization frightened him, and he fell silent as he struggled along the way.

His feet ached from walking on the rough stone of the floor, but he dared not slow any more at the risk of losing the cozzelt in the dark. Doggedly he clambered on, not allowing himself to think of anything other than Hermione. He had read about compulsions, but never personally experienced one. This cave seemed to have layer upon layer of them, slathering on the doubts, the urges to turn and run, to stop and examine his feet, to sleep. The only way to fight a compulsion was to concentrate on something that was none of the things you were being pressured to do.

Finally the cozzelt stopped, and Draco stopped too, unsure of where to go. Abruptly, the compulsions stopped as well, and he choked down a sigh of relief. "Kessen," he said raggedly, "sends her greetings."

"You have done well," the cozzelt rasped approvingly. "Unfortunately for you, that is not all you are doing. Find the wall on your right." Draco obediently turned ninety degrees to the right and walked forward as straight as he could. The wall pressed against his fingertips, and there he stopped.

"And now, my lord?" he asked.

"Go forward until you hit another wall." He did. "Now, turn to your right again, on that same wall, and you will find a doorknob. Open the door and step inside." Trembling, Draco did so. "You are to stay in there for two days. No food, no water. Oh, and you cannot sleep either. If you sleep, then you do not get your wish."

"Yes, sir."

There was a raspy, choking noise. "I am not a sir," the cozzelt told him, and he thought he heard amusement in the creature's voice. The sound of the door clicking shut was unmistakable, and dim light flooded the room.

Draco examined his surroundings. It was a small room, no larger than a twin size bed would be. The rock walls were rough, and the light had no apparent source. He decided not to dwell upon this and sat down, only just realizing how taxing it had been to go all that way in the dark battling against compulsions. But he could not sleep.

So, he searched for the most uncomfortable position he could find. There was a small jut in the wall, and if he sat just right, it jammed uncomfortably in his back. He placed his feet flat on the other wall, and his knees were bent up. Something clattered to the floor beside him, but at the risk of getting more comfortable, he did not move. A draft ruffled his wet clothing, which sat heavily and salty on his skin.

With a sigh, Draco leaned his head back against the wall and settled in. It was going to be a long three days. Water dripped somewhere in the background.

* * *

An alarm blared somewhere. Hermione grumbled softly. It was too early to wake up already. She reached around and pushed down on the sleep button, something she rarely did. But the alarm would not stop. She blearily turned on a light and looked up to see an owl on the table, screeching for all it was worth. "All right, all right!" she snapped at it. "I'm up!"

The tawny owl stuck out its foot, and she untied the letter from its leg, despite its attempts to nip at her fingers. She broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

_I wish to see you a week from now. Usual place, 11 PM._

_--Tom_

The parchment fell from her fingers. How could she have ever forgotten about Voldemort?

* * *

_Nobody plans to be half a world away at times like these  
So I sat alone and waited out the night_

—Brand New, "Guernica"


	21. Chapter 20: Assistance From A Dagger

A/N: (feels stupid) I was talking to my friend this weekend, and I was like, "blah blah blah, Ginerva" and then my friend said, "her name's Ginevra, not Ginerva". And then I freaked out, because I'd been writing it wrong all along (I did check that my friend was right). So I'd like to apologize to all of you out there for this, and in the future, I shall be sure to spell it correctly.

Chapter 20: Assistance from a dagger

Day two. Water dripped. Draco's eyes wanted to close and let him sleep, but the jutting rock in his back stopped that. _Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione…_was all his thoughts said. Water dripped. That, in particular drove him crazy. He was thirsty; he was hungry. His clothes were semi-dry, but had dried with salt from the water in them, which scratched at his skin. Water dripped, a wonderful counterpoint to the chant of his mind. Water dripped, an annoying counterpoint to the constant _Hermione, Hermione _of his mind.

Draco shakily stood. He had not stood since he had originally sat down in that position, and his legs screamed at him, cramped muscles seizing up. He stretched up high, and eased the pain from his body as well as he could. There would surely be a bruise on his back from that rock. It did not matter, if it brought him home to his precious Hermione.

The wall was rocky and cold against his back as he leaned against it. A shuddering breath. _It's amazing that I can still breathe, _he thought, his mind being dysfunctional and not remembering that the creature breathed out oxygen. "I don't know if I can do this," he murmured.

"But you must," he insisted to himself. "Draco, you cannot give up yet. It's only day two. Get through today, and then tomorrow and you'll be done.

"And I'll see Hermione," he said, and a look of ecstasy crossed his face as he thought of her.

"Well, aren't you acting high?" he snorted to himself.

"Hey," he snarled back. "I only did that once. And I promised to never do it again. Good thing they stopped me when they did. Bloody stuff didn't last very long."

"Bloody stuff didn't last very long," he mocked himself. "And besides feeling euphoric then, you feel almost the same now. Alert, awake, restless, and you can feel your heart beating faster…"

"This is not by choice," Draco reminded himself. "I have to get home again. And I have to stop talking to myself. I'm not going to do any more cocaine, so lay off! I just want Hermione," he groaned. The rocks cut his back as he slid down the wall. Yes, he had done cocaine once. The effects had worn off in about a half hour, which was disappointing. He had reached for more, when Blaise had walked in and caught him, forcing him to flush the small stash he had. He had only been curious, and other than that one time with cocaine, he had smoked marijuana twice. Of course, all that had been years ago. He didn't use any drugs except as painkillers now, and even that was rare, as there were potions for that.

"Mum's a bitch," he said absently, engaging himself again in a debate about his mother's true motives.

Though this was perhaps a sign of insanity, it passed the time, and Draco decided not to dwell upon it too much.

--

The cozzelt sat far down along the hall, holding its breath. She could hold it for up to an hour, and did so often. Currently she was listening to the boy talking to himself and contemplating what the third task would be for him. She never really was sure what the third test would be, usually coming up with it while the person sat alone in the dimly lit room.

For some reason, this particular human was rather difficult to place. In all her spare time, she thought up new final tasks, but none of them seemed particularly appropriate for this one. He sounded strong, and it had taken him almost half the second day to begin talking to himself.

On the other hand, he also sounded like he wouldn't make the whole three days. The boy's voice was already failing with weariness, his words slurring together as he rambled.

She shook her head and clambered over to the rocks that lined the water's edge so that she could think in peace.

--

"I'm scared."

The chair swiveled, and the man behind the desk looked the girl up and down. He sighed sympathetically and stood to lean against the side of his desk. Ginny came to him, and though she knew no one could see through the door at them, she still exerted caution and merely leaned her forehead against Orlando's shoulder. "About what?" he asked quietly.

"Hermione." She fell silent for a time, and he merely waited. "She's eating less. She looks like she's lost while going to classes. In classes, she's a mess. And as soon as there's any free time, she dashes up to the seventh floor, but she's not in the common room or her room, and I don't know where she goes."

Orlando twisted and wrapped a single arm around her. She tilted her head onto his chest, and he marveled at her strength that she did not cry. It had taken her a long while to come to him about this, and he had seen the worry etched in her face in class. At night, he had asked her if she was all right, and she had nodded. But he had known it was not, and did not wish to distress her by pressing the matter.

And now she had come to him, as he had been sure she would, and he would comfort her as best he could in the relative safety of his classroom. After all, most people would be at lunch at the moment.

"She's getting bags under her eyes, and carries a book around like it's her life. And I don't know where Draco's gone, but I know he's not here to comfort her when he should be. She won't talk to people." Her voice dropped to a whisper and Orlando tilted his head so that he could hear her. "She won't talk to _me. _And I don't know what to do."

Orlando was, at the moment, in the same predicament. But he at least could do something about it, and reached around with his other arm, watching the door for the least bit of movement and held Ginny close to him. She seemed to take comfort from this, and took a shuddering gulp of air through his shirt. One of her hands clutched meekly at the front of his shirt, and he noticed how tired she looked. Apparently this had been bothering her much.

"Gin, I want you to go and rest in my chambers. I will excuse you from your afternoon classes and get your work for you. I have a class after lunch today, but not after that, so I'll go and see you then. I strongly urge you to get some sleep," he said, looking down on her half-admonishingly, half-worriedly.

Ginny opened her mouth to protest. "Ginevra, please. As Orlando, and not as your professor, I ask this of you. You don't look like you're getting much sleep yourself, and I'm worried about you almost as much as you are about Hermione. Please, do this for me." He saw her open her mouth to protest, but it was rather unfortunate for her that it turned into a yawn before she could speak. She glanced up at him guiltily, as if hoping that he'd not noticed and saw he had. Defeated, she nodded sullenly.

"All right, then. But I'm not sleeping," she said stubbornly. Orlando sighed but agreed, suspecting that she would anyway. He duplicated his key and gave the copy to her so she could enter his rooms.

"Go," he urged her, pressing the key into her hand and kissing her forehead in farewell. Giving up, she nodded sleepily and slogged off into the hallway. In truth, Orlando was feeling every bit as tired as she was, but could not express it so well. Leaving the papers he was grading (or was supposed to be when he began daydreaming) scattered across his desk, he rose to find Professors McGonagall and Snape, hoping they would accept Ginevra's excuse.

--

Water dripped, and Draco felt like shouting at it to shut up. It was driving him crazy! _Hermione, Hermione, _his thoughts went, his heart beat. But that water even managed to interrupt his thoughts with its persistent _tap…tap…tap_…. Oh, why would it not _stop _all ready! He grinned in the half-light. Maybe it was made to make him crazy. Well, it wouldn't. No, no, no! He would not go crazy because of a silly drop of water. Or a million, which seemed more accurate to him than "a silly drop."

He laughed, and in the silence, it was maniacal and even scared him a bit. But he would not sleep, no, because that would be bad. _Hermione, Hermione, _beat his heart. His tongue was dry and swollen, and it felt like chalk in his mouth. He did not dare so much as lick the walls for the fear that it would count as drinking. Hunger had abated long ago to a steady ache in his stomach.

_Drip._

His eyes slowly began to close, and he was ashamed to find he was entertaining thoughts of sleep. He was so exhausted that he was doing the, "I'll keep my eyes closed, but I'll keep thinking of things so I won't sleep," thing. Which never worked, as far as he was concerned, because whenever someone got to that stage, they fell asleep within minutes.

_Drip._

Draco gritted his teeth. He would not seek out water. He would not fall asleep. Standing, he paced a while, and his muscles cramped and strained, and he forced them to work. Something clattered, and he looked down. The dagger that Kessen had given him, seemingly so long ago, was laying at his feet. He looked at it as if it were a foreign object before collapsing his legs to fall to the floor beside it.

_Drip._

Even in the half-light of the cell, the blade gleamed friendly and sharp. He carefully examined it, grateful to have something to turn his attention to. He had already done this with his Dark Mark, his sneakers. Draco had even dropped so low as to search for split ends in his hair. But this knife…this knife was something different, something that may actually interest him.

"It has been two days," the cozzelt rasped outside his door.

"Thank you," he called out to it. A giggle escaped his lips and he thought, _only one more day…This is almost a done deal._

If only it was, and if only he believed his own thoughts.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

--

"Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I have a letter from him," she told him, dropping the letter on the desk. She had barely remembered that this was one of his conditions.

"I see," he said, picking up the short letter and reading it. "Usual place?" he asked.

"Shrieking Shack," she responded.

"And the 'now'?"

"The letter was delivered yesterday morning. I do believe he means a week from then."

"All right then. That is all," he dismissed her.

"Um…I don't get the letter back?" she asked, curious.

"If you wish it?"

"I do," she replied, reaching out for it. He handed it to her, and she left. As soon as she was back in the hallway, Hermione headed for the library, to ask Madam Pince what she knew about the book (again), which was currently in the book bag at her side for this very reason. She'd been to Madam Pince before, but the librarian's lack of knowledge, and Hermione's persistence on the subject had finally made the librarian agree to try to find some more information on it.

--

"Now there's a good one," the cozzelt mused to herself. "I had originally thought that too cruel. But for this case, perhaps it is appropriate." She smirked under the water.

"And Kessen now. That's laughable. The girl wanted it, but not quite enough. I do believe she is content where she is now, though. She gives her greetings, he said. Apparently she bears me no ill will, particularly since she still sends her little treats into my den. A pity I must send so many of them back to her."

Her grin turned into one of long deprivation. "A pity she never lets me eat one or two. I suppose it's all just as well that I've never tried one and taken a liking to such flavoring. Then again, I may just as easily hate such meat, being used to fishes. These…humans look like they have so much blood in them. What a mess they would make to eat." To her own amusement, she made a soft gagging noise in the water.

"Ah, food. My poor prisoner must eat none. Nor drink." She took a long breath of water in through her mouth. "It's so…satisfying." She cocked her head to one side. "All ready he wanes." Sadly, she added, "We may not even need such a delightful third task after all." With a smirk, the cozzelt launched off the wall of her den in search of her own food. She would know if he broke her rules.

After all, it was her den, with her rules, and with only her magic.

--

Hours had passed since the cozzelt had told him that it had been two days. He was slipping slowly into sleep.

_Drip._

While he did not jerk awake, the soft drip reminded him that he must stay awake, and his eyes fluttered open for a second, closing again a second later. Something clattered at his side. Tiredly, he opened his eyes to see what it was. It was the knife.

_Drip._

An idea pierced Draco's fogged mind, a way he could stay awake longer. Slowly, he reached for the blade with his left hand. For all that he'd done before in his life, cutting was never one of them. The one time he had considered suicide, it was from the top of the astronomy tower, before he realized what a ridiculous proposition that was. There was no way he could kill himself by cutting his wrists open, and could not deal with what he was sure was a long period of time as he bled to death.

_Drip._

But this was not to kill himself. This was to get Hermione back. He unsheathed the blade, looked at the ivy that was engraved into its surface. It wound around up the blade, beautiful, exquisite, delicate. Shivering, he drew it across his right upper arm, and heard his sharp intake of breath at the pain.

_Drip._

Draco's heart pounded. He watched his blood slide down his arm. Obscurely, he was pleased he had thought of this, as he now felt wide awake.

_Drip._

Draco sat and watched the patterns the blood made on his arm as it pooled around salt crystals from being in the water. There had been so many encrusted on his skin that, though he'd tried, he could not get them all off. But it was interesting to watch the blood balk before it, and then surge over it a second later.

_Drip._

He sat back against the wall and let the dull throb of pain keep him awake.

_Drip._

--

Hermione felt guilty for not talking to Ginny about what had happened. But for some reason she wanted to keep this to herself. She _would _get Draco back. It had already been nine days, counting the day in the library when he had originally disappeared.

For her, there was no option of life without Draco. At least, not without closure, as in this situation. She needed him to stand before her, and tell her that he wasn't coming back. Which had not happened. It could not end like this. No. Not like this.

The girl stretched out on the couch of the Room of Requirement and examined the book for what seemed the millionth time. Madam Pince had no new information, except that this had probably happened before and she doubted he would come back. For Hermione, that was not good enough. She tried to read the book, but the words were blurry to her eyes, and even squinting she could make no sense of it. Frustrated, she flipped through the whole thing. She had done this before, and there was nothing new. All of the pages were too blurry to read. With a grimace she curled her body around the book and closed her eyes to think clearly.

She did not fall asleep until long after, when the small hours of the morning took pity on her and drowned her in a fitful doze. Sadly, even that was more restful than the thoughts that swilled drunkenly in her head, chasing each other until they fell down, each as pointless as the next. No progress was being made with her mind in this state, as the same ideas occurred over and over long after she had ruled them out.

--

As predicted, she was asleep when he came in.

With a soft smile, he took off his shoes and padded over to the closet in his socks, where he took out a blanket and put it over her. Ginny tucked her knees to her chest even tighter, but her face seemed to relax. Orlando smiled and quietly went about making himself some tea, and then carefully went into his room. He pulled down a long rectangular box in his closet and carried them out into the room where the redhead slept.

That night, he reread every letter she had ever written to him, liking her more and more with each one. It would be difficult, but she seemed to be holding up marvelously well with simple embraces and chaste cuddling. He expected that by sheer force of will, she would manage to wait that whole year before he would dare to touch her more than that.

After all, he could lose his job. He could lose his reputation. There was much that could be lost because of this small girl. She muttered in her sleep, and he grinned at her over a letter. Orlando had a sneaking suspicion that he would not lose anything because of this relationship, particularly with Dumbledore as headmaster.

--

_Drip._

Draco snapped awake before he even fell asleep. The cut in his arm had faded to a dull ache. Not enough to keep him awake, and he feared he still had a long way to go. Wincing in anticipation, he took the knife and cut himself again, the line parallel and below the first.

_Drip._

This one felt the same as the first, and Draco was relieved at this. This meant about another hour of wakefulness, he hoped. Beyond that flexible hour (he really had no idea how long until he began to fall asleep again), he refused to think. "Just take it a bit at a time," he told himself, and was too tired even to respond. Instead, he just watched the blood on his arm.

_Drip._

_Food, _he thought. _I'm so hungry, so thirsty. So…tired._ He yawned.

_Drip._

_Food. Hermione. Water. Drip. Sleep. Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. _Such was the pattern of his thoughts.

_Drip._

--

The water drove him crazy. His thoughts were tangled. _Hermungry, _he thought, a mixture between Hermione and hungry. _I am so…sleered. _There was a scary noise, and he realized it was his own laughter at the word. Sleered. Sleepy tired. He needed to wake up…wake up…wake up…

_Drip._

"Shut up!" Draco screamed at it. "You can't drip anymore, no more. I'm so thirsty," he whined. Tears hit his clothing with noises slightly different than the obnoxious drip of water. They made a _splot _noise, and for some reason it was a comforting noise. "I can't take it anymore. No more, no more," he said.

_Drip._

A growl rose in his throat, but he did not yell this time. Instead, he directed his frustration at the dagger, picking it up and viciously dragging it across his right arm. His ninth cut. Draco was about halfway down his upper arm now. None had been so deep as this one, and though they had bled, he was not worried about bleeding to death.

"I," he proclaimed, "would rather die trying to get back to her than live a life not having tried at all." There was no need to say it out loud. He had all ready known it in his thoughts.

_Drip._

He lay there for longer, leaning against the wall in a cramped position, doing all he could to keep himself awake.

_Drip._

_Splot._

--

The cozzelt stretched languorously. "I suppose it's time for us to wake him," she murmured. "Though it has been fun. His childhood was interesting. Must be odd to have such a mother. I wonder if he has died. I have not heard anything this third day." She cocked her head to the side, attuning her senses to her magic. A wide grin split her somewhat reptilian face. "Good. So he is not yet dead. Though he touches the boundaries of my rules," she murmured disapprovingly.

"Oh, well. I pass him." She got up and went to retrieve him. "Just one more thing, young man," she said quietly. He could not hear her, and she knew it. "And then you'll be home."

She had nearly reached the door to his cell before she added, "If you succeed."

--

"It has been three days," a raspy voice informed him. Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. Or, he would have, had he been awake enough. Instead, he had almost dozed off, and as it was, he merely blinked blearily at the inside of the cell, which was now dark. "You may come out now, and I have one last task to set before you. This will probably be the hardest yet. Now come, come on out." He tucked the dagger back into his pocket.

Draco came out of his cell, opening his eyes wide to try to see in the blackness. "Very good," the cozzelt informed him. "Now, if you take another step forward, there is a cloth at your feet. Blindfold yourself with it." He did so, nearly falling over when he bent down. "Now, go lean against the wall, that is always easiest. When you want to eat, just say so," she told him.

Before he could question what she said, delicious aromas wafted toward him. There was water sloshing close by, as if being sloppily poured. Draco wanted to throw himself in that direction, drink up every drop that spilled. He could smell pies and meat, fresh-baked bread, fruit. Words rose on his lips, _I want to eat, _just waiting to be uttered. In the moment that he opened his mouth, though, he realized this was his final test. After three days of not eating, he was starving, and would do anything to eat some of that food and water there.

But to do so would be to give up Hermione.

That he could not do. Sure, they may only be 17. That did not mean they did not love each other. They both knew it would most likely not last, but that didn't make them love any less. To them, they were young, in love, and (for the most part) having fun. Simply thinking about getting back to Hermione, banged up, starved, and tired as he was, he could not help but smile.

The delicious smell of apple pie wafted toward him, and he involuntarily opened his mouth.

--

Hermione went and took a long bath. She was exhausted from all of this, and tired of having her book bag split open from spells that were deflected because of Draco's dagger. Today, she'd even learned that it did not protect her hair. Someone had set fire to it today, and though it had been put out quickly, Hermione had made Ginny cut it so it didn't look so awful. In fact, it was now the length that she had cut it for the ball. Draco would certainly like that if he came back.

_When _he came back.

She popped a particularly huge bubble and felt like she was popping her dreams. Who was she kidding? Draco, come back? It had been ten days. Ten, awful days full of loneliness, hexes, and insomnia. If not for his dagger, she would have stayed in the hospital wing the whole time, if only to escape the other students. Several teachers had noticed her predicament and offered to walk her to class, but Hermione seethed at this. It would only make everyone hate her more, and it was beginning to look like she was on her own.

Maybe she would go to Dumbledore. He had said he would have information on the book in two weeks. One and a half was almost as much time, right? With a longing sigh, she decided to cut her bath short and picked up the dagger on the edge of the pool, hauling herself out. She stubbed her toe on the cement, and winced in pain, giving a cursory check of the damage (it wasn't much) before dressing to go see Dumbledore.

Professor Dumbledore's office was warm, and she could almost ignore her wet hair that dripped down her back. But something was wrong, and she couldn't place what it was. Frowning, she dropped to the seat in front of the desk. The headmaster arrived a minute later. "Miss Granger," he said. "May I help you?"

"Ah…I hope so," she began. Her brow was still furrowed in thought of what was wrong, but she continued talking. "About the book. Do you have any information that might be helpful?" she asked.

The eyes behind the half-moon glasses glittered sadly. "No. I have not been able to examine the book itself. Do you have it with you now? Mayhap I can get something from it…"

But Hermione was shaking her head. "No, I left it in the…well, I left it where I've been staying these past nights. I believe it is safe there." Safe. The word niggled at her mind, and in an explosive moment of realization she stood. Ignoring all demands of decency, Hermione reached down her shirt and pulled out the long knife from Draco. It scraped across her skin painfully, and she was sure it had slit her body from her navel to her collarbone.

"What?" she shrieked. Still holding the knife, she turned around and kicked the heavy chair she had been sitting in. It skittered away from her slightly, but the pain in her foot was all real, and the chair had moved by the sheer force of her foot.

"What's wrong with it?" she whispered loudly, dashing out of the room. She had to find that note from Draco that explained it. Frenzied, it felt like her feet were winged as she ran through the halls, and people paused and lunged away from her. The dagger that was still in her hand dripped with her blood, and she must have looked half-mad to any that saw her. So it was that they left her alone.

Hermione scrabbled under the couch in the Room of Requirement until her searching fingers finally found the box from inside Draco's trunk. She quickly pulled out the box she needed and reopened it. "_This dagger will...exert a shield all around your body so long as it is touching your skin somewhere."_ Hermione thought. _I was holding it in my hand when I stubbed my toe. And it most certainly did not protect my foot when I kicked that chair…_

"So what happened?" she whispered in despair. Glancing around the room, she saw the balcony again. In dismay, she stepped out onto it and stared at the stars. The wind was cold, and she shivered in a light rain. "I can't wait for you forever, you know," she yelled accusingly at the few stars that weren't covered by clouds. "It seems like longer," she said more quietly. "I know this is only the tenth day. But it feels like forever."

She stood in silence for some time, and the rain came harder. "It's not fair," she shouted. "You have to come back! You can't just leave me here!" Her voice faded to a whimper, "Not here. Not now."

"Hermione," a voice half-grunted, half-slurred in the dark behind her. She didn't recognize the voice and slowly turned around. A shadow lurched across the room, but she still couldn't make out who it was. Terrified, she pressed herself up against the rail.

_I'm going to die, _she thought frantically. With that thought lancing through her mind, she couldn't think of any way to save herself, and she cringed, hearing the person (was it even a person?) stagger across the room toward her. _They finally found me, and I'm going to die, and Draco will never even know…_

Grimly, she pulled out her wand with her left hand clutched his dagger with her right. Well. She would not go down without a fight.

--

_You come over unannounced.  
Silence broken by your voice in the dark. _

—Mae "The Ocean"


	22. Chapter 21: Disappointment

Chapter 21: Disappointment

Hermione waited, poised on the brink of disaster, her wand in one hand and the dagger in her other. The person in the room made some sort of noise, a grunting sound. A light flared, and she had to blink rapidly to dispel the flash from her sight.

The person Hermione looked upon now hardly looked human. His clothes were torn in places, crumpled, and dirt-stained. There was a large bloody spot on the right side (his right, not hers), and his arm looked as if it had been mangled, crusted with dried blood as it was. His face was haggard, his eyes gaunt and his lips cracked dangerously. He looked sickly pale and had deep, dark circles under his eyes. Two trails in the dirt on his face marked his tears, and his hair hung ragged and lank and unwashed around him.

She saw pain in his eyes just before she registered who she was looking at. Her face must have changed in recognition, because his softened in return. She stepped awkwardly closer to him, unsure of what would be appropriate to say. "You've been crying," Hermione heard herself say, and would have kicked herself for so blunt a comment.

But Draco—_her _Draco—merely shrugged. "You've been hurt," he said, his voice both hoarse and thick. She looked down at her chest and saw what she had known to be true. The dagger, upon pulling it out so carelessly, _had _slit her from navel to collarbone, and the blood showed in a blotchy red stripe down her white shirt. "Oh," she muttered, looking up at him. A strand of her shortened hair fell over her cheek.

He held out his right arm to her, and she stepped carefully into his embrace. "_Nox_," he murmured thickly, and promptly dropped his wand to the ground so that he could hold her properly.

"I've missed you," Hermione whimpered. She could practically feel her walls breaking down, her resolves dissipating into thin air. _I will not cry, _she had told herself. But now it was hard not to, and she blinked the hotness from her eyes. "It's been awful here," she whispered, in control now, but only by a small margin.

Draco swayed, and she stepped back. "Are you all right?" she asked worriedly. The blood staining his shirt stood out even in the dark, and she opened her mouth to say something about it.

"I just…" he croaked, "I just need to…sleep. I haven't slept…in over three…days," Draco said slowly, as if it was taking effort to talk. Deeply unsatisfied with their reunion, Hermione pushed her doubts away and helped him over to a bed. He could not even take off his shoes, so she undressed him down to his pants and pushed him into bed, taking off her own shoes and curling up on his left.

Hermione yawned, feeling her own exhaustion catching up to her. She leaned up to say goodnight, and found he was asleep on his back already. With a soft frown, she pulled herself onto her side and lay down next to him. Even with Draco there now, it was quite a task to get to sleep.

Sometime during the night, Hermione woke up to find she was being shifted. Immediately she sat bolt upright, her wand all ready in her hand. Moonlight sifted in through the window/balcony and glinted off of Draco's eyes where he was propped on an elbow beside her. Relaxing, she tucked her wand under her pillow again and lay back down. "Are you all right?" she whispered.

"Well enough," Draco whispered back. His voice rasped in the darkness, and Hermione shivered. "I was moving you so I could sleep on my side," he told her.

"Oh." She relaxed and closed her eyes again, but something felt wrong. He didn't have his arm around her. Feeling this loss more deeply than she should, she settled uncomfortably next to him. As if reading her thoughts, he carefully, even hesitantly, wrapped his arm around her. Hermione held back a sigh of relief and entwined her fingers with his.

They slept.

* * *

Frosty sunlight spilled into the room from the open balcony, and Hermione would have shivered if Draco wasn't beside her and the bed wasn't so warm because of their joint body heat. Her stomach growled a warning that she had better eat, _or else…, _and her lips turned upward at the empty threat. But she slipped from the bed anyway, shivering suddenly. Judging by the sunlight, they had missed breakfast. _At least it's a Saturday, _Hermione thought.

She pulled on a robe, which effectively covered the wrinkled clothing she'd slept in and the long bloodstain on her shirt. With a wince at her tousled and fluffy hair, she gripped her wand tightly and left the room. Most students were in their common rooms or outside, despite the chill weather. Hermione herself was on guard all the way down to the kitchens, where she got a large jug of water and a large plate of warm food. Draco would probably be hungry too, when he woke up.

So she shrunk the water and put it in her pocket, carefully balancing the food on one hand and holding her wand in the other. It was by pure luck that she ran into Orlando, and his presence alone warded off any students wishing bad luck upon her. They had traveled in silence up to the hall where her destination was before he turned to her and said, "Ginny is worried about you."

"Draco is back now," Hermione informed him with a small, tired grin before she turned around and continued down the hall, as if that explained everything.

In a way, it did. Orlando stared after her and then shook his head in wonderment, a half-smile lighting his features. He would certainly have good news for Ginny when she woke.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Draco rasped something in his sleep, making Hermione jump. She set the food on the table and returned the water to its normal size. Despite being ravenous, she found she was unable to eat much, and so ate little. Looking upon the leftover food in dismay, she let it be and hoped Draco would eat more of it.

Hermione was crawling back into bed to snuggle beside Draco when his eyes flicked open. He sat up sharply, accidentally elbowing her in the ribs. She winced, and scooted away from him a bit. "Is…" he said quietly, and the longing in that single word made the hair on her arms stand up. "Is it real?" he asked, as if saying no would kill him.

"Is what real?" Hermione asked, bewildered. Draco's grey eyes flashed around the room, finally landing on the food on the table.

"Food," he whined hopelessly, crawling over her in his haste to get to it. When finally there, he poked at it hesitantly, then took a bite of eggs. Tears shone in his eyes as he slowly took another bite, then another. Finally he seized the jug of water and, heedless of cups, began to drink it straight from the container.

Hermione, confused, could only look on. "What happened to you?" she whispered. He did not hear her and only ate on. "My poor Draco." She settled herself cross-legged on the bed, waiting.

Draco worked himself out of his frenzied eating and sat back, staring at the plate. It seemed that, as Hermione had found, though starving, he could not eat as much as he wished to. She coughed slightly, drawing his attention to her. Memories shimmered painfully and dangerously behind his eyes and he rose to his feet and came back to her. He crawled under the blankets and she followed suit.

"I've missed you too," he told her in response to her own words of the night before. Her heart gave a hopeful flutter in her chest, and she quelled it. It would not be a good thing to get the wrong idea, not just yet. Draco curled up at her side, leaning on his left arm. His right arm, the dried blood flaking off, wrapped itself around her and she shivered.

Draco leaned down and scrutinized her carefully, brow furrowed in thought. With a sigh, he lowered himself down onto the bed again.

"I love you," she whispered. He smiled gently and closed his eyes. After a while, she said, "What happened?" Draco didn't answer, and when she looked, he was already asleep again. Hermione yawned in agreement and cuddled closer. Neither of them had gotten much sleep in their time apart.

The next time Hermione woke up, it was to find an empty space next to her. She sat up in confusion, and winced as the cut along her torso scrunched up painfully. Rubbing the slit absentmindedly, she stood and wandered over to the plate of food, which had been significantly demolished since the morning. Hermione finished off the dish and had a small glass of water as well.

Abruptly there was a mirror to her side. She shook her head that the room had read her thoughts almost before she'd thought them. Stepping up to it, she stripped off her shirt to see how bad the cut was. It wasn't deep, but was long and would certainly leave a scar. She sighed and replaced her shirt quickly as she heard the door opening.

"Draco," she breathed, relieved. She looked him up and down. He had on new clothes, his hair was washed, and his cheeks had some color in them. Even the gaunt look had diminished, now merely hovering like a shadow over his face. Draco smiled weakly at her, and she grinned back before catching a glimpse of her own appearance in the mirror.

"I look awful," she muttered, horrified.

Somewhere to her side, Draco snorted. "You look fine," he reassured her.

"Yeah, almost as fine as you looked before," she snapped, not knowing why. The smile dropped from his face and instead a scowl replaced it. "Oh, I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't mean…that is…" She stopped and looked in the mirror again. "Look at me! I look awful! My hair is fluffy and tangled, not straight like it was before I went out into the rain, and my shirt is bloody all down the front. I have neither slept nor eaten much since you've been gone, so I look thin and tired. My clothes are crumpled because I haven't changed them in two days, and I have a huge cut from my belly to my throat! You can't tell me I look fine," she said lamely.

"Okay. Well you saw me without having eaten, drank, or slept for almost four days, and without changing my clothes for ten, even though I walked through the forest and swam in the sea in them." He looked at her pointedly. "We'll call it even."

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked, horrified.

His eyes looked at her, and in the half-light were strangely expressive. The look he centered on her made her feel as if she'd just been dumped into the Hogwarts lake, and Hermione struggled to keep their eyes locked, wavering under his look. Draco's lips pursed, in pain or in anger she did not know, as his eyes abruptly froze over. She was left staring beseechingly at the blonde, who simply took off his shirt and shoes and crawled into bed again.

Hermione finished her water and came over to the bed, climbing in next to Draco. This time, though he lay down on his side next to her, he did not wrap a comforting arm around her. Feeling compelled to say something, she murmured, "Draco?" He did not answer, and his eyes were closed but for some reason she didn't not think he was yet asleep. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, and closed her own eyes too.

Sleep did not come for Hermione until much later.

* * *

Ginny's eyes opened blearily and shut again. She murmured something and rolled over onto her side. The bed was cold there, and she turned back to the warmth of her former position. But wait a minute…her bed was never cold, it wasn't big enough for her to leave cold spots….

She shot up in bed, blinking sleep from her eyes rapidly. Deep green curtains and black accents offset cream-colored walls. Odd light filtered in from the windows, and Ginny reached for a wand that turned out to be absent. Becoming increasingly frightened, she swung her legs over the tall edge of the bed and slid down. She was still in her clothing, but that offered her little relief.

The rest of the room was filled with simple furniture. There were not many outstanding features, but on the dresser were several picture frames. After opening the curtains, she went to examine them. "Oh," she murmured, upon recognizing a few of them. "Then this must be…"

A door creaked open, and she turned hastily. There was no time to hide the guilty look on her face. But the man in the doorway simply smiled indulgently at her, and she grinned back in answer. "Orlando," she stated.

"Ginny," he responded back. "Um…I—"

"What am I doing in your room?" she asked suspiciously.

Orlando looked sheepish. "You fell asleep on the couch, and I moved you in here. Don't worry," he added quickly, "I slept on the couch instead. Nothing…"

"I know," Ginny said. She should have known Orlando would be too worried about losing his job to sleep with her, even in a completely chaste fashion.

"Anyway, I ran into Hermione. She said that Draco was back, if that helps you relax any." Her relieved smile must have answered him, but before she could verbalize such, her stomach gave a large growl. Orlando laughed, seeing her blush, and added, "There's some food in the other room."

Ginny headed out into the front room and immediately followed the delicious smells. Orlando hung back, but she did not notice amidst the food.

The young professor frowned in thought, remembering the look in Hermione's eyes when she had gravely told him that Draco was back. The small grin after had not been able to disguise the worry and dismay in her eyes. He doubted if she had even known what showed there.

With a small frown, Orlando started into the kitchen, where he prepared tea for Ginny and himself. _Should I tell her? Gin was happy to know that Draco was back, but did not know that Hermione did not seem quite so happy. But if I tell her that adds another burden to her shoulders. If I don't, she'll find out soon enough_….

A sigh escaped his lips, and he added sugar to one cup of tea, leaving his own bitter, still debating with himself. "Gin…" he began, setting down her tea in front of her. "I think…I think you should know something. When…" Orlando paused, sipping his tea, searching for a way to phrase this. He wrinkled his nose at the sweet taste of the tea and traded mugs with Ginny.

"Hermione didn't look very happy when she told me that Draco was back. Considering that we don't even know where he was, it's highly possible that he's changed. She looked…worried," Orlando said, giving the young girl across from him a cautious look.

"I tell you only so that you are not surprised if you see her. I may have just been imagining the look, it may be that nothing is wrong at all. But…" He stopped there, having said too much. _Just don't get your hopes up, _he finished in his head.

Ginny's brow was furrowed softly and she looked down. "I'm sorry," Orlando supplied quietly.

When she looked up at him, her face was determined. "Changed or not, if he doesn't fix my friend up, I will cause Malfoy greater pain than he has ever known," she threatened. Orlando hid his frown by taking a large gulp of tea. The familiar bitterness was like a balm over this new ache.

"I do not think that would be a good idea," he cautioned lightly, looking over the rim of his mug at the redhead.

Before he could continue, she cut him off. "Why not?" she challenged, tossing her head defiantly and glaring at him.

Ginny had never glared at him before, and it was only the fact that he had to deal with Slytherins on a daily basis that allowed him to keep his face calm and not to cringe at the stare. "I think," he said slowly, not sure what to say but knowing he must give her a good reason to not attack. There was a pause, and he ran his fingertips along the rim of his cup. "I think that Hermione is a smart girl and will figure out what needs to be done for herself."

The girl scowled and picked up her own tea, muttering something that sounded like, "Not where Malfoy's concerned." Orlando was beginning to regret telling her. It would have been better, he reflected, to have simply let her find out and then come to him for comfort. They finished their teas in silence, and then she looked up at him fiercely. "Do you know where they are?" she demanded.

"No," Orlando answered truthfully.

"Fine. I'll find them on my own," she said arrogantly and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

The professor was left staring at the door, a look of shocked dismay on his face. "I never said I wouldn't help you," he told it sadly, "there's no need to act like I did you a personal injury." With a melancholy, pensive mood upon him, Orlando found some papers to grade and carefully kept his mind off of the young girl, who was so unfairly angry with him.

* * *

Ginny had searched all day for them. High and low, she had systematically combed the castle, from the dungeons all the way up to the astronomy tower. It had certainly not been her best hunt, she'd always been the best at hide-and-seek, but she could not help that her mind was elsewhere. Orlando's hurt look had lingered in her mind all day.

She had been unreasonable, and she knew it. Orlando probably had as little idea as she as to where the couple was holed up—had been holed up—this whole time. Ginny never had been a morning person, but it had been cruel for her to lash out at him so. With all her heart, she hoped he would forgive her.

Sitting on the steps to the astronomy tower, Ginny glanced out a window. The dusky evening outside matched her mood—dark and moody. She sent out a desperate wish for a cup of tea and the warmth of Orlando's arms around her waist. Grumpy because of her inability to find Hermione and because of her earlier anger with Orlando, she punched the wall.

Of course, that helped not at all. Ginny pulled herself together. She would just go and talk to him, and then…then maybe he could help her find them. Yes, that was a good plan….

A few minutes later, standing in front of Orlando's door, it didn't seem like such a good idea. Repeatedly, she rose her hand to knock and then put it down again. Apologizing would be hard for her, she never had been good at it. She had quick spell reflexes, and an easy anger. But apologizing had never been easy.

Frowning, she decided to just try and open the door. If he was expecting her, it would be open. If he was mad at her for her snap earlier, it would be locked, she decided. Reaching down, she turned the knob….

* * *

The door shut, and Hermione sat up in bed. Her upper body protested such an action, and she winced in pain, though the scowl quickly reclaimed her face. Draco was acting weird. Yes, he slept with her anyway, and did boyfriend-ly things, like brush her hair out of her eyes and bring her food to her while still in bed. Sometimes, though, when he thought she wasn't looking, he had trained upon her a look of utmost loathing. It reminded her of the looks he trained on Harry, or the looks Professor Snape gave to Harry (or even most of the Gryffindors).

But Draco had never given her that look before. Not with this much hatred, this much feeling behind it. Before, he had given her a similar look, one of intense dislike, and sneering scorn. But loathing? Never.

It frightened Hermione.

What frightened her more was that she had no idea why he was looking at her like that. _Think reasonably, _she told herself. It probably had something to do with what had happened while he was gone.

Sorrow rent her heart. She had known the likelihood of him coming back and still being hers was slim. People did not go away and have life-changing experiences and come back to what they had left. Indeed, it happened some times, but certainly not as often as she could hope. A groan of dismay left her, and she clambered out of the high bed to do some homework. If anything, that at least would get her mind off of things.

* * *

His hands shook as he penned the letter, and he hated himself for his weakness. Despite the sourness of their last meeting, he hoped to mend things between himself and his daughter. He had also heard, through the grapevine, that his beautiful dragons had gotten to her. That was a pitiful turn of events, but he may yet be able to salvage its remains and turn it to his advantage. If he could figure out how…

Lord Voldemort leaned back and looked at the letter. He may as well simply give her the assignment in person, she would come to him in a few days anyway. The door to his office swung open, and he grumpily allowed Peter to enter, looking just as mousy as ever but thankfully bringing a few flasks of brandy with him.

"Do you think this is too much for the girl?" he queried, not really caring what Pettigrew answered. He knew that he would probably give her the assignment anyway.

Peter said nothing, but his eyebrows crumpled together as if he was thinking. Voldemort thought that the only things going through his mind were probably how to answer the truth without angering his master. "I believe that you know best," said the man, with a too-fierce look of relief. Voldemort inwardly congratulated himself on being right.

"That's right," he muttered. Pettigrew looked up at him sharply and quickly carried the tray out of the room.

"It'll either make her or break her," he said into the silence. The fire crackled heartily in response, and the Dark Lord picked up the letter he had written and was about to throw it in. At the last moment, though, he decided against it and stored it inside his desk instead.

Just in case.

* * *

The next time Hermione woke up, it was Sunday afternoon. Draco lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Not liking his expression, Hermione warily got down from the bed and stood in front of the fire that seemed to be almost always burning. Hopefully he would tell her what was wrong.

"Hermione?" she heard behind her.

"Yes, Draco?" she answered softly. Her heart seemed in her throat, and her pulse pounded. _Please, don't say something bad, please._

"I…I think I hate you," Draco whispered. The pulse that had seemed like thunder in her body earlier stilled, and she stiffened. She did not say anything and waited for him to go on.

_

* * *

We'll never fall apart  
So tell me why this hurts so much_

My hands are at your throat  
And I think I hate you

—Story of the Year, "Until the Day I Die"

**Spastic asian: **"Orlanda thinks he won't get fired for doing anything with Ginny while Dumbledore is headmaster?" That is actually not what I meant. I meant that at the moment pretty much all he and Ginny are doing together is hugging and cuddling and the VERY occasional kiss. Orlando doesn't think Dumbledore will fire him for that. He IS worried that Dumbledore will fire him if he does more than that.

I guess it's a good thing Ginny's good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, right? Because it'd be really screwy to have to fail the person you're in love with.


	23. Chapter 22: Sharing Pain

Chapter 22: Sharing Pain

Hermione said nothing. What was there to say when the person you loved told you that they hated you? It wasn't even simply disliking something about your personality, not something you could change, but you. And "hate"…not the softer words of dislike, or annoyed by, or any of that.

In the faint light that filtered through the heavy clouds, and accompanied by the orange flamed in the fire, Draco spun his tale.

"I had no idea where I was, but in some strange land with some strange people and no way to get home. There was a man named Bukkex, and he and his wife Xokos were kind enough to take me into their home for a couple days. But when I expressed a desire for my own world, they told me of a creature, a cozzelt, which could or at least may be able to take me home. So on my third day there, I left for the sea, where they said I could find such a creature. I got there three or four days later, I don't know which. Time was confused there, for me.

"I was by the edge of the sea and I met a man who took me to a woman, named Kessen. It was she that gave me this knife"—there was a clatter and Hermione tilted her head to look at the dagger by her foot; it was very pretty, engraved all up the blade with some design she could not make out, and seemingly as delicate as anything could be—"and told me to go to a small island you could see from the edge of the dock. Having no choice, I swam to it and spent the night there on the sand.

"Sometime the next morning, I got up and went down into the water. I think it took me almost an hour to find the cozzelt's den. As soon as I got down there, my bubblehead charm popped, and I almost drowned, but it was the thought of you that kept me going. It was because I was thinking of you that I made it onto the rocks of the cave alive. There the cozzelt found me, and told me to follow her.

"The cave was filled with compulsion magic, and I wanted to turn back, to run back to the safety of the little island above us, back to Kessen, back to the kindness of Bukkex. But instead I thought of you, and kept going. Have you ever felt compulsion magic? It's a truly awful form of magic, and the only way to get through it is to think of one single thing that will get you to keep going. If Kessen had stuck in my mind as you did, or Bukkex, there is no doubt I would have turned back then and there to go back to them.

"But I didn't. I thought of you." Draco paused here and drew in a ragged breath. Hermione's knees went from stiff to water, and she knelt in front of the fire and picked up the dagger on the floor beside her to examine it more closely. The engravings she had seen up the blade were ivy, and it was a pretty knife…

Draco continued. "After that the cozzelt put me in a little room, about as big as a closet here in Hogwarts. For the next three days I wasn't allowed food or water (neither of which I'd had earlier that day either), and the worst condition yet: I wasn't allowed to sleep. That room drove me mad, and I could always hear water dripping somewhere. On the first day, I was fine, if a bit bored. By the second day, I was talking to myself—about my mother, and…other things. On the third day, I know I would not have made it if I didn't have Kessen's knife. I began cutting myself on my arm, and the pain kept me awake.

"I wouldn't have even lasted to the third day if I hadn't been thinking of you the whole time. It was like a mantra inside my head, 'Hermione, Hermione, Hermione' always, over and over, and over. It never stopped. You were the only reason I stayed put in that room, the only reason I willingly went without food or water or sleep for three days.

"And when the three days was up, the cozzelt put me to the hardest task yet. I blindfolded myself, and for hours—I don't know how many hours, but it was crueler than anything could have been at the time—I had food and water paraded in front of me, just out of reach, and certainly out of sight. It was probably just magic so that I smelled the food, heard the water sloshing in a jug, but after over three days of not eating, the only thing that kept me from breaking and yelling out that I wanted the food—thereby ending the test—was the thought of you.

"And so, now, here with you, I can't help but hate you. It was for you that I went through all of this…misery, and pain, and…" his voice broke, and he stopped, drawing deep breaths. Tears chased each other down her cheeks, and Hermione tried not to look back at Draco. "And I can't help it. I don't know what to do about it."

Hermione nodded. She heard the couch bend under his weight, and his careful steps as he walked around the table to kneel at her side. Draco's hand reached out for her shoulder and her breath hissed out at the contact as she moved away a bit. Draco frowned and edged closer, this time wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him. She sat stiffly in his grip.

Draco tilted his head and laid it on her own. "It's not all the time. Only sometimes, when I think about the…the pain and misery of what happened. Not right now," he whispered, shifting his knees out from under him so that she was sitting in his lap, with her head pressed reassuringly under his chin.

Kessen's dagger in the firelight looked almost as comforting as Draco's loving grip around her, however temporary it may be. She didn't know what she was doing, but she wanted to share his pain, even if only a little. The sharp edge carefully separated the skin of her upper arm, and blood swelled around the line even as her breath shuddered in.

"I am sorry," Draco whispered to her. They were both staring at the cut and watching the blood spill down her arm. She could feel his hot tears falling into her head and she drew a second line below the first. The knife was so sharp that she hardly seemed to feel the pain. Either that or the pain was just so reassuring that she embraced it and saw it not as pain but as a friend's welcome hand above you when you're drowning.

Hermione hesitated about a third cut, and the point of the dagger made a valley against her skin as she thought. Any more pressure, and it would cut, and then her blood would run into the redness from the other two cuts…. Draco's hand came and wrapped around hers, pulling the blade away and dropping it onto the hearth in front of the fire.

She did not remember the actions, but her arms were around his neck and she was crying as they kissed, carefully at first, but then becoming heedless of the usual grace that infused such an action and kissing each other as a sharing of their pain. Their tears mingled together, and fell on their clothing with mutual loss. Draco's teeth nipped her lip, both painful and sensual, and her nails dug into his back, scratching all the way down as he bit at her neck. It was almost a contest to see who could cause the other more pain…almost….

* * *

Ginny slumped to the floor outside Orlando's room. She had turned the knob, but, finding it unlocked, had suddenly been too scared of his reaction to open it. What if he hated her? What if he didn't forgive her? She knew such things were impossible from him, but couldn't help that they went around and around in her head. "Gryffindor my ass," she muttered. "I'm not even brave enough to open a door and apologize."

She sat there, stewing in her misery until there was a creak and the door opened. The dark hall was infused with light and the redhead blinked at the sudden onslaught. A shadow briefly blocked out most of it, and then went back. Ginny struggled to her feet and turned to the open door. Orlando was already back in his quarters, but he had left the door open for her.

Ashamed that he was the one who had opened the door and not she, Ginny stepped meekly into the room and shut the door behind her. The noise was soft but seemed magnified in the room, and she was suddenly much _too _aware of how messy her hair was, her clothes unkempt and dirty from searching the castle, her face a bright red with embarrassment.

It was Orlando who spoke first, calmly commandeering the situation. "Tea?" he asked, indicating a cup on the table. Warily, Ginny skulked over and sat on a cushion across the table from him. "Did you find them?" he asked, genuinely curious.

His kindness was driving Ginny mad. It would've been easier to deal with him if he'd been cold, or even just overly formal. But instead he acted as if it hadn't happened, somehow managing, at the same time, to acknowledge that she owed him an apology. "No," Ginny breathed out sadly. Orlando looked like he was about to say something, but in his hesitance gave her a minute to apologize. She took it. "I'm sorry about this morning," she muttered.

Orlando grinned at her. "It's all right. I know you're grumpy in the mornings. By the way, I think I may have found them. Did you check the room of requirement?"

Ginny felt unimaginably stupid. "No," she said, smiling at Orlando brilliantly. "I don't know how I could have missed it, but I did! Should we go?"

"I'd say wait until tomorrow, but if you want to go you can," he told her indulgently. Her smile waned at the use of the singular. "I can't go with you, Gin. It'd look suspicious if people saw us together."

Ginny frowned. "I hate that, but okay. Not tonight then. Tonight I'm with you, she said softly, and was rewarded with an adoring grin. She returned the smile and scooted over to where Orlando sat in his armchair and leaned against his leg.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" he questioned, running his fingers through her bright hair.

"For being you," she replied, reaching over his legs for his free hand.

"And the same goes to you," he said, slipping over the edge of the chair and wrapping his arms around her. Ginny turned her head to look at him and he kissed her. It was their third kiss, and the first that he had initiated. She could feel herself go giddy at his touch and tried to get even closer to him. About to deepen the kiss, she was almost surprised when he pulled away from her.

She closed her eyes on the pain, and simply let the dregs of her ecstasy wash over her. Orlando opened his mouth to apologize, but she reached up and put a finger over his mouth to quiet him. "I know," Ginny told him. "I know." He nodded to her and dropped his head onto her shoulder, and she knew he was just as sad as she was to end it so.

Orlando's breath tickled against her neck, and he whispered, "I'm sorry." Ginny held him tight but did not respond. He already knew she agreed with the sentiments.

* * *

Draco woke up the next morning feeling almost as if he had a hangover. Hermione's warm body was beside him, and he was embarrassed, shocked, and worried that both of them were topless. In the dim light, he could see where he'd bitten her the night before, all of them outlined in red marks or faint bruises. He could see where he'd been holding her hips much too tight and had left black and blue fingerprints on her. With a smirk, he thought that he probably looked just as bad as she.

Looking upon his arms, he saw that he was right: the arm that he hadn't cut had long red welts on it. They'd both been very careful of the cuts from Kessen's blade. That had been something else altogether, and each of them had treated that arm tenderly while heedless of everything else. Draco looked at his arm and knew his back was much, much worse. She'd given him his fair share of bites too, so it turned out about equal in the end.

Hermione shivered as he let cool air into the blankets with his upright position. He edged out of bed carefully to try and let her sleep, but it was too late. She opened her eyes and watched him get out of bed, simply looking at his upper half calculatingly and without any regret or hint of guilt.

The brunette sat up to follow him out of bed before realizing she was completely unclothed from the waist up. Draco smirked and didn't turn away as he pulled pants on over his boxers and then reached for his shirt. Hermione swallowed her embarrassment (obviously he'd already seen it all last night) and got out of bed after him, looking over at him disdainfully, but he seemed to see faint amusement in her glance. He turned back to his shirt to see why she was amused: her nails had shredded it almost completely last night.

Draco tossed the useless shirt away and simply pulled his robe on. Hermione gave her injuries the same calculating look she'd given his, and ran a finger over his fingerprint-bruises on her hips before pulling on her—untorn—shirt. Neither of them said anything. Nothing was needed to be said. It was a sharing of the misery each of them had suffered, and an exacting of revenge (of sorts) for the misery, and a blissful release from everything.

Hermione looked up from buttoning her robe and gave Draco the same smirk he'd been giving her as she re-clothed herself. He felt a confused rush of both love and hate for her at this, and she saw his face change. Her own face was calmly accepting of this, having seen both emotions. It was this, this simple confusion of feelings that he could not help, that made him feel guilty. This stood out in stark contrast to the lack of guilt he felt for having mangled her body so much the night before. But that was different.

He would have to forgive her for the pain that he had gone through in her name. What happened last night was a start, at least. After all, she had her own healing to do, too. Draco could only imagine what it must have been like to walk around school without your partner in crime to lean on and almost all of the student body trying to get at you.

The two of them walked down the stairs in silence, and instead of aiming curses and hexes at the couple, most of the studentsdrew away anxiously, whispering among friends. _Well, _Draco thought, _I think we do look rather formidable today. She looks alert, and…older, somehow. As if she's transcended above all of this already but won't scruple to hurt someone if they threaten that transcendence. You can see my teeth marks all over her neck. And me…well, _he caught a reflection of himself in a window. _I look grim. Scary. My face is still gaunt, and my eyes…_ Draco didn't want to think about what he'd seen in his eyes in passing the window. A deep sort of bloodlust, a willingness to do battle that he'd never seen in himself before. Overlaying that, a calm impassive look possessed him, and his lips were twitched up in a smirk that frightened him. The smirk itself seemed to agree with Hermione's "no scruples" transcendence.

Indeed, they would make a frightening sight for the school. Draco wouldn't admit it, but he was a little scared too.

Outside the doors of the Great Hall, they reached for each other's hand together, and when they clasped them, their gazes met. In the new silence they had found with one another, they walked into the hall and went to the Slytherin table, where they seated themselves between Crabbe and Goyle and across from Pansy and Blaise. Together, they reached for the plate of toast and their hands shared its weight as they brought it closer to them. They both ate three pieces of toast, and if the toppings were different, by now it was clear that they were more attuned to one another than they ever had been before.

Throughout the day, they continued to be completely in sync with one another. Draco began to wonder how long it would last. If he looked to her, it was almost certain she was looking right back at him, and if she wasn't already looking at him when he looked to her, she would look up a second later to meet his eyes with a smirk identical to his own. They reached for things at the same time, and their footsteps echoed in the halls as one. It was scary. It was exciting.

And they both became used to it very quickly.

After Hermione had Ancient Runes, the two of them met up in the library, where they studied for a while. They spoke very little to each other the whole day until they were safe within the Room of Requirement that night.

"Did you notice…?" Draco began.

"Yes," Hermione replied. She had noticed how attuned they'd been together. "Why?"

"Last night?" Draco asked, unsure. "Or maybe just being back together." He stared into the leaping flames of the fire and remembered her blood trailing down her arm, just as beautiful as his. He had cried for her, with her. But his Hermione—beloved, wonderful, hated—had shown no hesitation until the third cut, and so he had stopped her. He reached forward and picked up Kessen's dagger, which was warm because of the fire but not unbearably so. Hermione's blood still covered the edge of it.

"Last night," she agreed with his thoughts quietly.

"What…" _did we do?_

"I don't know either," she responded. "But I know…we're thinking almost the same thoughts. I know what you're going to ask while you're asking it, and…"

"Know what I'm going to say before I say it. Yes," he breathed. _How long? _He wondered. She didn't need to speak. They both knew that neither of them could answer that question.

"It's not so much that I can read your thoughts," she began.

"Or hear them," he added. "More that…"

"More that I know you're thinking what I'm thinking." Hermione finished for them. They sat in silence, and she moved closer to him on the carpet and leaned her head on his shoulder. He knew then how much it hurt her for him to be gone for so long, how the school had hated her, how her hair had been burnt off when she thought she was safe, how Ginny had cut it and Hermione's misery at that. But in her thoughts he picked out her excitement at finding his dagger (now under her pillow in their bed), her relief at not needing to constantly be on guard because of it.

Draco brought up his own memories of that time, and she flinched but bore them. Him, nearly drowning and only thinking of her as he kept trying for the surface. His hunger and thirst and weariness in the stone cell. The crazy _drip, drip_ of water in the background and the _splot _of his tears. Kessen's knife on his skin in nine cuts. And as he had drawn something good out of her memories, she brought to the surface Bukkex, who was strange but not unkind, and his wildly-furnished house. Xokos smiling at him and reminding him achingly of Hermione. She picked out Kessen, giving him the blade and the unexpected gift of empathy for his cause.

And she paled at his memory of the constant _Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, _that was embedded deep within everything. She knew it to be the beat of his heart, each breath, the counterpoint to the dripping of water, a drowning man's last thoughts, his dreams, the only thing keeping him going.

He had almost expected her to cry, but what she did instead brought his heart to swell for her with love and not a bit of hate—for the moment. Hermione simply took his hand and squeezed it tight. She offered no words of comfort—any would have been inadequate—nor did she try to apologize for what had happened—there was nothing she could do about it. She simply sat there and squeezed his hand in understanding.

They both stared into the fire, remembering, and sharing their pain. After a while, the moment changed. Draco shifted and put his arms around her. In a question they both already knew the answer to, his hands rested on her hips, quietly on the bruises he had left. There would be more after tonight, they both knew. As one, they accepted it, and were grateful to it, for in the midst of their love and hatred and pain and ecstasy, they forgot everything else, and it was good to get away from the world for a time. It felt good to share another kind of pain.

Draco hesitantly unbuttoned the top of her shirt and looked at his work from the other night. He looked up, a last question, the last reassurance before he brought back the physical pain that was easier to deal with than the emotional scarring they both had. Hermione leaned to him and kissed him carefully. He took of his shirt and they both smirked at the thought of her shredding it like the other night.

And it was done. She had agreed to it, and as she leaned over, she began it. He was almost certain she would be the one to stop it too, slowly bending until her bare torso was up against his, and his teeth would nip at her shoulder one last time. Yes, that was how it would end. But for right now…this was just the beginning. It was different from the carelessness of the other night…they each searched for new spots to bring pain and destruction to. They did not bite or press or scratch at bruises already there, but found new places and brought a new world of pain to each other.

It was agony. A blissful agony of forgetfulness. A different sharing of pain.

* * *

"Are you coming with me tonight?" Hermione asked Draco. She was sure he already knew the question, but wanted to voice it anyway.

"To where?" It seemed that though he knew her question, he did not know the specifics. _Voldemort, _Hermione thought, and opened her mouth to say. But Draco nodded and spoke before she could, "I'll come."

"We should get up," Hermione said, but her body language expressed no desire to do so. _In a bit, _they thought together. _Hermione, _his heart beat, and she felt his hatred roll off of him so much that she flinched.

"I'm sorry," he verbalized. She didn't answer—she already knew how sorry he was.

"Have you looked at…?"

"No," Draco answered. "You probably look worse though." He had hated her last night, and loved her, and he had taken it out on her body so hard that she had yelped in pain. More than once.

Hermione nodded in agreement and they climbed out of bed slowly, feeling the pains and embracing them. She nearly laughed to find herself still in her skirt—she'd been too tired to change her clothing at all before going to bed. Draco was in the same predicament, with his jeans still on.

Out of bed, they examined one another. As predicted, Hermione looked worse, covered in bruises all over the front of her body (mostly on her neck and shoulders), though her back wasn't so bad. He had once again left finger marks on her hips, almost exact echoes of the first set. Draco's back was a sea of red welts from Hermione's nails, and she had even gotten some on his arm and chest. His shoulders were bruised from her teeth.

Silently, they found their shirts (and bra, in Hermione's case) and put them on. The couple found themselves doubting if they would ever have any nights like the two they just had again. "Probably not unless there's something really traumatic again," Hermione answered out loud to their mutual, unvoiced question.

Classes were droll, and Draco and Hermione ached for each other with a pain that had very little to do with their physical injuries. They found that even across the school, they could still think with one another. It was strange, this mental awareness of the other, and they both wondered—both with longing and concern that it would—if it would fade away with time.

That night, in the Room of Requirement, they readied themselves to face Lord Voldemort. In fact, this took little preparation, and so they ended up playing wizard's chess until they had to leave. They played four rounds, and Hermione won the third game, but lost the other three. She complained that it was hard to win when the other person knew what moves you were going to make, and Draco indulgently did not point out that she knew just as much about his moves as he knew about hers.

_Ready?_

_Let's go._

"Okay," Hermione whispered. Draco put his cloak over both of them and they left their room. The halls of the castle were eerily quiet, and they met no one on their way down to the Entrance Hall. Hermione frowned, and Draco's thoughts agreed that it was creepy. Maybe Dumbledore had wanted to make sure she got to this meeting and had kept the hallways clear for them.

_Doubtful._

Once they were out of Hogwarts grounds and on their way to Hogsmeade, Hermoine stepped out of the cloak, and they struck up a conversation. "My mum…" Draco began, then paused to think. "I used to see my mum covered with bruises and think that father was abusive. I always worried about bringing it up with them because I thought he might start beating me too. It was almost always after he'd been gone on work with the Ministry."

_But I think I understand now._

"But I think I understand now," Draco said aloud. He didn't need to, she had thought ittoo. "I never even realized they may be hurting each other…"

_As a release. _This time he did not say it out loud, and their hands found each other in the dark.

_I think it helps more with the pain._ It was unclear who began this thought.

_You can become oblivious with snogging…_

_But only with the pain can you forget…_

They trekked up the hill, talking both silently and aloud to one another. It was strange to be able to do that, but fun too. It opened up worlds of possibilities for them. Could they block one another? Was it possible to think with each other at long distances? Would it fade or grow stronger or be indifferent to time?

When they reached the meeting point, there was already someone waiting for them. Hermionedrew her dark cloak tighter and pulled her hood down—she hated wearing the mask, so she usually went without it. Everyone had seen her face already anyway. She made sure that Draco was properly invisible, and without a word to their companion, gripped the portkey she/he held out.

Hermione blinked at her surroundings. It seemed that Lord Voldemort did not like to hit the same place twice. She currently stood on a wide platform in the middle of a small island. Hatred splashed over her as it reminded Draco of his recent travels, and she felt him violently quash it. She wanted to reach for his hand—or was it that he wanted to reach for hers?—but they both knew that it would look weird with the invisibility cloak. Either part of her hand would disappear along with his or his would appear because there was no way to keep the cloak over his hand while holding hers.

Her father looked up at them from his throne and she felt him tentatively reach for them with his mind. It was almost like legilimency, but not quite, because instead of invading her mind for its memories, he merely brushed up against her, as if to be sure she was there.

Hermione walked forward, confused, and flinched before she realized that it wasn't her own thoughts being rifled through. It was Draco's. "Father!" she snap. Voldemort looked up at her attentively, but showed no sign of remorse for going through Draco's memories. "If you wanted to be sure that he was here, or that he was one of us, you should have just said so. I have no problems showing you his Dark Mark or even answering a spoken question," she growled, irritated as she took her seat. Draco hesitantly positioned himself behind and to the side of her.

It was odd. Hermione could feel the alert tautness of his body reverberating in hers, and it took some effort to not stand up and have her own body echo his completely. As it was, her back was ramrod straight against the back of her chair.

"You are still angry about the dragons, then," Voldemort surmised. "I truly am sorry that you are. I would have told you, but I wanted your reaction to be just as surprised as all the other students. And I didn't want to risk sending a letter like that into that castle. I have no doubt that they check the mail coming and going," he said casually.

"I almost died," she hissed, and did not know whether it was her thought or Draco's. "Bad timing for you, but me and Draco were the first ones to see the dragons, and we sent the third person with us to warn the teachers. The dragons didn't manage to get anywhere near the castle, but my back is scarred for life, and some of my chest!" To prove it, Hermione unbuttoned the top of her shirt and pulled it to the side so that he could see the scar of the spike that went through her shoulder blade.

"There's four on my back! And another right here," she pointed to where the spike had gone through her lung and come out her chest. "If you had warned me, the dragons may have gotten closer to the castle. As it was, they hardly made it past the lake," she snarled. "So your plan failed and I got mauled. _What a great idea not to tell me!_" she taunted sarcastically.

_I didn't know we had so much rage about this,_ she and Draco thought together.

And it was because of their brief moment of thought that Hermione didn't see the warnings until it was too late. The Dark Lord's hand left a stinging mark on her cheek, and she heard Draco gasp with her pain. She, however, did not, and just met Voldemort's eyes coldly. "More pain, father?"

"Your impudence will achieve nothing. It cannot be changed, and I did what I thought was best for us all," he said shortly and turned away.

Draco's touch was cool on the heat of her cheek, and she forced herself to not lean into his hand. She felt his love, and his sadness at her being hurt, and it reassured her even more than his touch. Hermione sat regally in her throne and ignored the throbbing handprint on her cheek. Her straightness pulled Draco's body into accord too, and he stood stiffly behind her.

A smirk was upon Draco's lips, the smirk that she could not have upon her own. Hermione had won. Voldemort had gotten fed up with her and shown his anger; therefore, she won by default. But she kept her face impassive so that the Dark Lord would not think her arrogant, and allowed herself the pleasure through Draco.

The Death Eaters began arriving, stepping onto the beach and hiding their annoyance at the sand. They splayed out in a semicircle around the platform and its thrones and calmly waited for the meeting to begin.

"Where is Goyle?" Voldemort barked.

A man standing next to the blank space stiffened and spluttered, "I don't know, he said he'd be here, and—"

Voldemort cut him off. "You're late, Goyle," he told the man who was now approaching up the beach.

"I apologize, my Lord," the man said in embarrassment. Hermione saw him try and take his place as if nothing was wrong, but he knew what would come, and she pitied him for being late.

"_Crucio,_" Voldemort said. The man fell down and writhed on the ground. Hermione forced herself to watch it, and Draco supplied her with a sneer fitting for the occasion. Goyle's scream arched to its pinnacle and fell abruptly into the wheezing, sniveling breath of a man in great pain that did not dare show it. He picked himself up with great dignity, all considering, and stood attentively, waiting.

Draco's sneer slipped off of her face and his to be replaced with a blank look. "Now, about that London raid. Malfoy," Voldemort barked, "Do we have the numbers and the location?"

Someone stepped forward and bowed low. "Yes, my lord," Narcissa said. "We have mapped out the upper part of London as you have said and have enough numbers to take the whole area."

"_Upper _London?" the Dark Lord sneered.

Hermione's respect for the woman rose as Narcissa did not falter. "Yes, my Lord. I have also mapped out the lower half of the city, but…" she drifted off, wisely. Voldemort did not like people to think, only to follow. But Draco's mother looked up at her Lord appealingly, and Hermione caught the glance she threw her way. It said, _help me._

"Father?" Hermione said, taking up Narcissa's look. "Do we have enough numbers to take all of London at one go? It may be better for us to only take a part of London. I think…" she paused. It wouldn't be a good idea to push this.

But Voldemort seemed to be in a giving mood and waved her on. "I think that we shouldn't risk ourselves unnecessarily. If we can take all of upper London without much difficulty, then I think we should do that and make it quick. Go in, raid, get out. We don't want the Ministry to catch us, do we? Wouldn't it be best to keep it a short, fast raid with good results than to try and overdo it and get caught by the Ministry?

"How many live in upper London, Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

"Enough for each Death Eater to gain four slaves," Narcissa deadpanned.

"Thank you," said Hermione, some of her fears allayed by what she had said. _Continue, _she and Draco thought. "A single Death Eater can overtake four muggles easily. Or should be able to. And within minutes, too. If this was done in the middle of the night, when most muggles are asleep anyway, it should be unimaginably easy to do so, particularly if it's planned out who goes where…?"

Narcissa nodded, and they both turned to the Dark Lord for approval. He seemed to be thinking about it. Hermione's heartbeat was loud in her ears as she waited for his call.

"Yes, yes," he agreed eventually. "You can do this, Malfoy?" Narcissa nodded her head sharply, and then was dismissed back into the ranks. The meeting ended quickly from there, and Narcissa pulled aside the team that was helping her work on plans for the London raid. It would be soon, Hermione knew. Probably within the next month.

There were sharp cracks as people left the meeting. She stood from her seat, finally giving in to the uncomfortable feeling of standing stiffly while also sitting down tensely. Her body felt more comfortable when it mirrored Draco's position, and she sighed with relief as she put it that way.

Voldemort turned to her once everyone was gone. "You two are not coming on the London raid, but there is something I want you to do that night when you feel your Mark burn." He leaned close to her, and her mission echoed in her head for Draco to know too.

"You…" she swallowed thickly and tried to make words come out of her throat. "You want me to kill Dumbledore?"

Lord Voldemort smiled, and was still smiling when the portkey he shoved in her hands took her and Draco back to Hogsmeade.

_

* * *

What at once seemed as the impossible,  
Now makes perfect sense.  
We held hands to face the uncomfortable cold,  
And lonely room._

—Mae, "Mistakes We Knew We Were Making"


	24. Chapter 23: Dumbledore Part 1

A/N: I have some ideas for my next story and have already written out…dun da dun dun! The kiss scene. I've had it in my head for a while now, and didn't want to forget it. But, that's for another story, and not this one. I anticipate this story will end at about chapter thirty, maybe go as far as thirty-five.

Anyway, I just wanted to point out that I had the idea for her to kill Dumbledore _before _the sixth book came out. So I'm really not trying to copy anything with that. But I had previously had another ending for this situation, and have found a better one now. It'll probably be sometime…this chapter or the next.

Um…no, they have not had sex. If that was unclear. And…the last chapter didn't go at all how I planned it to be, but I liked the end result well enough...

OMG THIS CHAPTER JUST KEPT GOING AND GOING AND GOING. I wanted to end it at a certain point and still didn't get there after 13 pages of writing! So I just cut it at the best break possible. Next chapter will probably be shorter.

CHAPTER 23: Dumbledore Part 1

It was lucky, very lucky indeed, that Voldemort had sent them back immediately. Hermione fell to the wet grass staring blankly ahead and felt Draco fall to his knees beside her. Their thoughts washed over with one another and tangled in each other into an incomprehensive knot of disbelief, outrage, and outright revulsion at the idea of killing Dumbledore. They were unsure that even if they had been taking occlumency lessons as they were supposed to they would have been able to hide this mass of thought from the Dark Lord.

Draco, who had never fully supported Dumbledore even when he was agreeing to act as a spy, still found his thoughts spinning in tandem with Hermione's, probably even overlaid with Hermione's own, more forceful, ideas on this matter. "That was unfair. I am not going to kill him," she growled to the grass, and looked up sharply at him. He hadn't even realized that his voice had echoed hers.

"We have to tell him," one of them said.

"We can't tell him," the other responded.

Grey eyes met brown ones in the moonlight. They nodded together. The headmaster was expecting a report tonight on this. And they had until their Marks flared to make a decision….

_He can help us.…_ Doubt washed over them, emanating mostly from Draco. Trust followed, from Hermione. They stood together and walked back to school, and they picked at their thoughts, laying to rest as many as they could, until there were only a few main threads.

"I'm going to tell him," Hermione said. Draco knew and disagreed. He began to protest, and she turned to him. "This mission was handed over to me. You can do as you'd like, but I'm going to tell him." _You can't stop me, _ricocheted in their minds, and there was no doubt who this came from.

"Should we tell him about this?" Draco asked, tapping her head.

"Yes," Hermione said automatically. "He may know what it's about, and maybe even tell us some more about it. I'm really curious about it, actually." Her grin in the darkness reminded of Xokos, and for an instant hated her. Draco tried to squish it, to cram that line of emotion into the small place in his head where his orders from the Dark Lord had been put, where Hermione couldn't find it.

It seemed to work, her face flickering with the pain his hatred wrought but was soon back to her normal self as he tucked the feeling away. He did not apologize, but carefully took her hand in his own. She understood.

At the edge of Hogwarts grounds, Draco drew Hermione under the cloak with him. She was soaking wet and that sogginess was transferred over to him. "I hope there aren't any teachers around," Draco muttered in her ear as they approached the doors.

"It'll be pretty hard to explain this," she agreed. "Then again," she murmured, pulling him off to a wall and turning around so that they stood front-to-front with another. "I'm sure we could make up some sort of excuse…" Draco shivered at her breath on his neck and leaned down to kiss her. _I'm sure we could,_ they thought.

"It's certainly not an excuse they'll like…" Draco mumbled in her ear. _But it's better than the truth, _Hermione thought back. The two stood there for a while, Hermione's back against the wall and Draco leaning over her, and simply let their emotions flow. _I'm scared, _her thoughts whispered. _I'll protect you, _they thought, _I don't want you to get hurt._

_I love you._ The thought was even quieter than the first, and Draco started. It had clearly come from Hermione. He leaned down and kissed her slowly, showing her that he loved her too. _For now, _she thought sadly, and Draco pulled on the expressionless mask he'd worn before meeting her. She would not see his pain at this.

"We should go," Draco said. The only chance he had at keeping his pain secret was to distract her.

Hermione nodded against his shoulder and reached out for what was wrong, but he backed up a bit. _The cloak,_ she thought.

"Is pointless. We can just tell anyone we meet that we were doing business for Dumbledore and are going to report to him. It's the truth." Hermione nodded at that and Draco took off the cloak, bundling it up and tucking it under his school robes.

The couple met no one on their way to the Dumbledore's office. A thought fluttered at the edge of Hermione's awareness, but she found it to be out of her reach. "Canary cream," she told the gargoyles. They sprang aside, and she and Draco stepped onto the spiral staircase. At the door, though, Hermione showed her first signs of edginess. Reaching for the doorknob, she hesitated, and so it was Draco who knocked.

"Come in." Glancing over her shoulder to Draco, Hermione reached again for the knob, this time completing the motion. Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking not a bit tired.

"Ah, I was expecting you two sooner or later. Do come in," he said when he saw them pause at the door. "Tea?" he offered. Hermione nodded gratefully, and even Draco gave a grudging nod at the headmaster's thoughtfulness. "I hope you found no troubles on your way in and out?" Hermione shook her head. This was the faint thought that had been out of reach earlier. "Anything to report?" Dumbledore's eyes glittered oddly in the light, and Draco looked away. Hermione put her cloak against the back of a chair and seated herself cross-legged upon it in an attempt to preserve what little warmth she still had.

"There'll be a raid. I don't know when. I'm pretty sure it'll be in London," Hermione said. "But I've convinced them that it's best to keep the muggles as slaves instead of kill them all. And I don't think you should try to stop this, because then he'll know that I've double-crossed him. Or he'll think it was Draco. Anyway, neither of those situations are any good, so I don't know what to do and I'll trust your judgment," she let out in a rush and nervously took a large gulp of tea.

Before she could open her mouth to continue, Draco decided to try something. It was going to be like when he'd given her a smirk at the meeting. He leaned a bit closer to her and concentrated hard on her nervousness. Suddenly it was gone, and he felt it as acutely as if it were his own. He held onto it, careful not to let it spill into Hermione, and she continued her report calmly.

Containing her anxiety was not nearly as hard as Draco had expected. The only problem was that without her nervousness taking over her mind, he saw her getting more and more frightened. He wasn't sure that he could hold both emotions at the same time, so he had to leave it as it was and fidgeted in his seat.

"Um…there was also something else…he…" Hermione trailed off, and Draco felt her fear overflow and pool around him. "He wants me to kill you," she whispered.

"I see," Professor Dumbledore said. A wave of relief and uncertainty washed over the two teenagers. Assaulted with these two emotions, Draco found that trying to hold her nervousness was like trying to hold water in your hands: seeping out of your grasp no matter how hard you tried to contain it. Even so, he struggled to do so, biting his lip and shifting uncomfortably in his chair just as Hermione would have done if she had been the nervous one.

The two waited for him to respond. "What…should I do?" Hermione asked.

Dumbledore blinked, as if he hadn't even realized how uncertain she was about this. "Kill me, of course."

"WHAT?" Hermione and Draco yelled together. "You can't be serious," Hermione said.

The man looked at them from behind his spectacles. "I am. I shall just get my affairs in order, and then whenever you need to kill me, you can."

"But I don't…" Hermione began, trailing off.

"Understand," Draco finished for her. In the depths of his own emotions, he had forgotten to hold onto her anxiety. She fidgeted in her chair.

"I certainly have lived far longer than most, and I knew my time was approaching. But I must ask one thing of you: paint me a portrait."

"But I don't…" Hermione and Draco said, unable to separate their thoughts enough to speak independently.

"It's quite simple," Dumbledore told them. He glanced off at the portraits of past headmasters and mistresses of the school, and they all stared wide-eyed at what was occurring in the room. "Before you kill me I'll be sure to set everything up for you. All you'll have to do is paint."

_This is absurd! We're not having this conversation._

"A five-year-old can paint better than me!" Hermione protested. Draco snickered and she pretended not to hear.

"I will tell you the secret to painting the portraits. I simply want you to do it. The portraits have already been made, see, but you have to do something special with them to make them…real. As you can see, all the past headmasters and mistresses can talk, relay ideas and thoughts. But pictures can only move. My portraits can move, but if you paint my thoughts onto them, then they will live even after I am dead," he explained simply.

"I…" Hermione began. Impossible. Absurd. Unreal.

"You did not believe pensieves were for the sole purpose of collecting memories, did you? They function perfectly well as that, but are hard enough to come by that there is another use for them. If you put enough of your thoughts in a pensive, and paint them over a portrait, then the portrait will absorb your thoughts. Most often, portraits are painted with the thoughts in the paint. However, it works all the same to put the thoughts on after." Dumbledore's eyes glittered behind his spectacles, without a trace of sadness.

"Was there anything else you wished to tell me?" He asked.

Hermione and Draco looked to one another, and their thoughts were disorganized, flowing into one another minds without cohesion. "No," they answered as one. "Oh, wait. We do," Draco said.

"There's something weird going on between…us. I don't know what's happened, but we can…"

"Well, it's like we know what the other is thinking," Draco continued when Hermione faltered.

"And feeling," she added. "Thanks for earlier, by the way," she said. "About the…"

"I know," Draco responded. _No need to thank me. I wasn't doing anything. _"Anyway, it was better for you to report without being nervous." Hermione nodded, and her thoughts seemed to wrap warm and fuzzy around him.

"I see," the headmaster murmured, and his eyes twinkled with amusement. "I wondered why you were fidgeting. I have never known you to fidget, Mr. Malfoy. Considering that it was Miss Granger's feeling, it makes more sense." He fell into silence, and Hermione and Draco quelled the confused thoughts about their earlier conversation and waited for him to continue. "I do not know of this to happen under normal circumstances, but it may have something to do with that book of yours. Or…"

Dumbledore stopped and looked at her neck, where she was sure Draco's tooth marks stood out against her pale skin. His gaze swept over to Draco, and she thought she saw the corners of his mouth deepen in amusement. "Miss Granger, have you read of Compassion Bindings?"

"Yes, but…oh. Yes, that makes sense," Hermione said blushing. "I guess we're done here." The headmaster seemed to be holding back laughter and Hermione jerkily stood. Draco's body wrenched upright in response, and he was sure he heard Dumbledore laughing as they left. "Bye," Hermione said, and Draco's voice echoed hers.

"What's Compassion Binding?" Draco asked her as they went back to the room of requirement.

"Um…" Hermione seemed reluctant to tell him. She shoved the tangled mass of thought on what had happened in the last couple hours into his mind and appeared to be thinking of a way to phrase her answer.

"You see…when two people…." Abruptly she threw her hands in the air and pulled her share of thoughts back into her mind. "I'll get you a book on it."

_Very typical of you,_ Draco thought dryly, and her gaze flicked over to him. He couldn't tell if she was angry or amused with the thought as she opened up the door to the room. She sat on the bed, and he felt her exhaustion roll over her. Her motions slowed down and she sluggishly pulled off her shoes and robe and crawled into bed, wet clothing and all.

The blond did the same thing, feeling awkwardly in two positions as she lay in bed and he sat on the edge taking off his shoes. He could already feel Hermione plucking at their thoughts, trying to work out what had happened that night. When he finally clambered into bed, her shirt was cold against his bare chest, but he held her close.

They did not sleep for a long time, carefully sorting through their mutual thoughts and memories, working out what had happened.

The last thing they thought before nodding off was, _We're going to kill Albus Dumbledore._

_

* * *

_

Albus sat back in his chair, looking thoughtfully at the portrait of Phineas on the wall. "Are you mad?" the portrait sputtered. "You're not even going to put up a fight?"

"You are exactly correct," Dumbledore told the old portrait. "Once, when I was a boy, I went to a small little town and had my fortune told. The only thing that the man would tell me was that I would die by the hand of someone I loved. Simply for her being at my school, I have loved this child, and through her brilliance, I have grown to love Miss Granger as if she were my own child. It makes sense."

"You are off your rocker. You have no idea what you are doing! Without you…you know what they say?" Phineas went off on a different thought. "They say that you're the only one that He Who Must Not Be Named has ever feared! Are you even thinking of the consequences of this?"

"I am. I am giving Harry a running chance in this game. After I am gone, just as you said, the only one that Voldemort has feared, then he will grow bolder, more public. You must admit that Harry has a better chance getting to him if he's brazen rather than overly cautious." He popped a lemon drop in his mouth.

"Fool!" Phineas hissed. "Mr. Potter has already lost everything that he holds dear except for the Weasleys and the Order. You wish to take yourself away from him too? That is folly." The man sat back in his portrait, his expression aghast. "To imagine, I used to praise your intelligence and admire you!"

"Oh, please, Phineas. Do stop being so dramatic, it's not helping anyone here." Dumbledore pulled some parchment out of his desk and began writing upon it. The only sounds in the room were Phineas's outraged huffing and the scratch of the quill on the parchment. "Now. Can you imagine? She set a Compassion Binding on him without even noticing. Or perhaps it was the other way around?"

"Absolutely hilarious," Phineas agreed dryly and left the frame to check on the other places where his portraits hung.

* * *

Harry woke up with a start before sinking back on his pillows. He had been dreaming of her again. Hermione, her hair blowing about in the wind had looked at him pleadingly, and for the umpteenth time begged him to listen, to understand. Of course, Harry would have none of it. She had betrayed them. 

Inexplicably, sleep would have nothing to do with him. After what felt like a few hours, Harry forced himself out of bed. He pulled on some pants and then violently threw his curtains to the side. Ron looked over at him from his own bed. "She can't get out of your mind either?"

Harry shook his head. "It's just getting worse. It's almost like when Voldemort would get into my dreams. But these are more constant, and more…more…"

"Heartbreaking?" Ron supplied. Harry's breath whooshed out as he nodded. He sat back down on his bed but left his curtains open so he could converse with Ron. "But how could she do that to us? I know we were angry with her at first, and hurt, but…she went over…" He dared not finish that sentence with the other boys sleeping in the room.

"Exactly. And it's worse that she's with Malfoy now. Have you _seen _them smirk?"

"I know!" Ron bellowed indignantly.

"Shut it," howled Seamus from his bed, and there was a shout of assent from Dean.

"I know," Ron continued in a quieter voice. "Those smirks are so identical you want to smash their faces in. Oh, and did you see what they did to one another? I saw Malfoy take off his robe yesterday, and he had scratches all over his arm, and I could see where she'd bitten him all over his neck." He shivered in disgust.

"Did you see her, though?" Harry asked. When Ron shook his head, he continued, "Those bite marks on him were nothing in comparison to the ones on her." He paused as he heard Seamus and Dean get up and begin to dress. He and Ron didn't have any classes this morning, but they did. They fell silent and waited for the other two to leave.

After Seamus and Dean left twenty minutes later, they carried on their conversation as if there had been no pause. "I'd feel worse," Ron said, "If she hadn't started dating Malfoy."

"Did you see them yesterday?" Harry asked quietly, lying on his side so he could watch Ron's reaction.

"Yeah," the redhead added just as quietly. He stared at the ceiling. "They were scary. Maybe not apart, but together…"

"Intense," Harry murmured. Ron nodded in agreement and opened his mouth to say something when there was a knock on the door. When Ron didn't move, Harry got up and opened the door. "Yes?"

A second year stared up at him. "Professor McGonagall wants you and your friend," he peeped.

"Thanks. We'll be right down." The second year stood there for a minute, gaping at Harry, and then turned with a squeak and ran down the stairs. Ron was already pulling on a shirt and robes, and Harry did the same.

"Did we do something wrong?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. "Not that I remember. Maybe she wants to talk to us about our grades. Without Hermione, they've been…dropping," he said as he tied his shoe.

"I know," Harry agreed sadly. Without Hermione to goad them on, and then eventually "look over" their essays, their marks were getting lower and lower.

They stood and walked down the stairs together, each tangled in their own thoughts of the girl.

Professor McGonagall hovered impatiently around the stairs and looked relieved when they came down. "Hurry," she urged them, ushering them out of the portrait hole. The few people in the common room looked at them in sympathy as they passed. Everyone knew how much Hermione had meant to the two of them, and how much her betrayal (dating Malfoy) had cut them.

"Um…Professor?" Ron began. "Where are we going?"

"You two are going to see the headmaster," she replied tightly. Harry and Ron exchanged looks behind her back and they tried to make themselves more presentable and failing.

"Canary cream," she said primly at the gargoyles, but Harry noticed that her hands shook. The silence on the stairs seemed ominous, and when Ron tried to say something, McGonagall had turned and glared at them. The silence had stretched thin by the time they were at the door, and the professor's knocks seemed sharp and angry.

"Come in," Dumbledore called. "Thank you, Minerva," he told her as she hovered in the doorway. She opened her mouth to speak, and he gave her a grave stare behind his spectacles. With an audible snap of her jaw, the professor stepped back and shut the door.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore greeted them. "I trust you both slept well?" The two exchanged another glance, knowing about their dreams, but nodded anyway to the headmaster. "Now, you two probably are wondering why I called you in…no, it's not because of your grades, though I do hope to see some improvement in those."

His eyes twinkled behind his spectacles, and Harry suppressed a sigh of relief. Ron turned his own sigh into a cough and visibly relaxed in his chair. "The topic I had in mind involved Miss Granger, actually."

Harry tried not to glance at Ron, but his gaze was pulled inevitably to the other boy's. Dumbledore saw this, and frowned. "Whatever you two are thinking about her is wrong."

"But she's—!" Ron began indignantly. Harry wished he could kick him, but he shut his mouth of his own accord.

"Yes, she's working for Voldemort." That certainly got their attention, and Harry's neck hurt from turning so fast. "And you turned away from her. I had hoped you would try to bring her back on your own, but I find now that my own time runs short. I want you to reconcile with her."

"How did you know?" Ron asked just as Harry said, "What do you mean by your 'own time runs short'?"

"To Mr. Weasley's question, I know because she's also working for me. And as for you, Mr. Potter, I should think the meaning of that is clear."

"But you can't die!" Harry shouted, leaping to his feet. "You're not…you're not…" _mortal, _he thought, but did not say.

Few times had Harry ever seen Dumbledore look alarmed. "Please, Harry, you must calm down," he said. "I have chosen this death. And please do not blame the one who kills me, it is not her fault at all. You must be reasonable. This is the best way I can think to deliver Voldemort at your feet. Without me, he'll feel more secure and, if all goes well, will stop being so cautious about everything. Without perceiving me as a threat anymore, he's halfway to killing you, or so he'll think. Trust Miss Granger. She's our queen in this chess match." Ron understood the look Dumbledore gave him.

"The sacrifice," he muttered, and Dumbledore beamed. "It's like our chess game in first year, remember that, Harry? I had to sacrifice myself so that you would win! It's what Dumbledore is doing now! He's sacrificing himself to distract them! Though," Ron sobered and turned back to the professor, "I don't agree with you about Hermione being of such high value."

Harry sank into his seat. Not Ron too! They were both crazy! His last bit sounded saner than the rest of that chess talk, but still…there was no way that he could be agreeing with Dumbledore's death.

"I had hoped you would take her back without needing my help, but I do find that this, among a few other important things, was one of my main thoughts when I found I was going to die. Miss Granger is our wild card in this game. You clearly don't know how much respect she commands from the Death Eaters, and Mr. Malfoy too, simply for being in love with her." The old wizard sighed, showing his years.

"Let me speak frankly with you two. Miss Granger is going to kill me. She and I have already discussed this together, and I have convinced her that this is the best option. I'm old, and have been waiting to die for many years, no matter how pleasant they have been. She will kill me, and Voldemort will trust her fully. You can use her as a tool.

"Since you have not been in contact, I would not expect you to know this. Nor would I even have expected her to tell you if that was untrue. Voldemort has taken her in as his daughter. His trust in her, hopefully was already strong. And when he can use his legilimency to see that she did, indeed, kill me, he will never doubt her, and therefore will not doubt Mr. Malfoy either."

"_So I went and got a new father… I'm better than just one of them…" _Hermione's words echoed in his ears, only now making sense.

Dumbledore smirked faintly at his plan. "_Use them. _They are more useful than you know, particularly as a pair. Find them, and use them. He trusts them, and with any luck you'll be able to kill him before the year is out. Do not let my death be in vain, and please heed my knowledge, on this if nothing else."

Harry and Ron didn't even notice the compulsions he put on them, and as they left, blandly nodding their assent, he breathed a sigh of relief. "I hope you know what you're doing," Phineas said tartly from his portrait. "Your trust in precious little Granger may be misplaced."

Dumbledore ignored the taunt, too amazed at the simplicity of it all to give it much thought. "I only hope," he said, "That Harry will succeed. For if he does not, then my whole life truly has been in waste." When the moment of melancholy passed, Dumbledore turned to address a headmistress gazing wide-eyed from her frame. "If you would please find me as much of the Order as you can and tell them there is to be a meeting at Grimmauld Place? Tonight. And apologize for the short notice." She nodded, still not over the shock of it all, and walked out of the frame, as did a few other headmasters and mistresses.

Sitting back in his chair, Fawkes came over. He stroked his old pet—companion, really—with a familiarity born of long years together. "Fawkes, if you would find the rest?" The phoenix gave a knowing blink, and Dumbledore made several copies of the letter he had originally written, explaining everything and saying that everyone was to convene at Hogwarts ASAP after his death before putting various charms and spells on the parchments so that they would not fall into the wrong hands or be read by the wrong eyes.

As he finished, they disappeared as Fawkes took hold of them. "Be safe," Dumbledore told him. The phoenix rubbed its silky head on his cheek and with a soft _poof _was gone.

"There is so much to do and so little time," Dumbledore told his almost-empty office. Two headmasters turned to each other and began whispering. Some headmistress shared some nervous looks. The current headmaster took his pensieve out of the cabinet and put some of his childhood memories into it. He would need everything else for the meeting tonight.

* * *

Hermione yawned awake and was surprised to find Draco beside her. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "You have class this morning…" 

Draco opened a lazy eye in a look that said as much as his thoughts, _I don't care._

There was a thick _smack _and Hermione and Draco jerked upright. Breathing a sigh of relief to see that it was only a book fallen on the floor, Hermione got out of bed and picked it up, glancing at the page as she did so. She must have frozen on the spot, because Draco looked up. "What is it?"

Hermione brought the book over to him with a shrug.

_Compassion Bindings, _it read at the top. Draco glanced up at Hermione, and saw her look was just as amazed as his—and a bit more amused. He read on.

_Compassion: n. a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another's suffering or misfortune, accompanied by a desire to alleviate the pain or remove its cause._

_Compassion Bindings are formed when two people (or more: there have been reports of up to five people in a single Binding) feel compassion towards one another. They are often established after all parties have experienced severe trauma, either emotional or physical. To create such a bond, each person must receive (willingly) pain from all other Binding groups. Bindings have been known to work best when another type of pain than the type found in the original trauma is used in the Binding, however either is known to work._

_While not exactly rare, the range of effects of such Bindings are very diverse, therefore usually making the symptoms overlooked as such. Possible effects are: feelings of hatred or love (sometimes both), an obsessive attachment to others in the Binding, the urge to cause yourself or Bond-mate pain (as was found in the process of the Binding), also an extreme awareness of the Bond-mate's physical situation, emotions or thoughts (or any pairing of the three)._

_With so many ways for Bindings to affect people, it is hard to pinpoint the length of effects. At times, such effects are permanent, and in other cases end quickly. Bonds can fade or grow stronger at distances; likewise, distance, can have no effect at all. They can be forged strong or weak in the beginning and have no effect on its later strength._

_In moments of extreme stress, a Bond can be broken, and there are only two reports of a successful re-Binding to the original Bond-mate again. Breaking a Binding is potentially dangerous and has been known to cause insanity on some of the participants. At other times there has been absolutely no effect on anyone after a Binding is broken._

_Bindings are highly unpredictable and they are not often noticed as Bindings that research on this magic is vague at best and there is nothing truly definitive on the subject._

Draco was left staring at the page, trying to soak it in. "But…" he began. Hermione sat down beside him and tapped his neck, hitting a place where she'd nipped him particularly hard. He didn't flinch but gave her a 'fine, you win' look. She smirked and leaned over to kiss him.

_As always, you're right…_ his thought floated between them. Hermione gasped when he suddenly pushed her onto her back. The book fell from his lap and hit the floor with three solid thuds but neither of them cared as he leaned over to kiss her, slowly unbuttoning her shirt from the bottom up.

He loved her, and then, abruptly, _Xokos _shot between them. Hermione laid still and the quick bolt of hate shattered. Love replaced it again, and she shivered, squirming uncomfortably under him as he leaned over. _I'm sorry, _his thoughts whispered. She kissed him as a sign of forgiveness….

The door swung open and hit the wall behind it with a sharp crack. Hermione sat up before Draco could move, and her shoulder slammed into his jaw. He backed off from her with a grunt of pain, and she could feel his tongue throbbing where he'd bitten it. "Oh," she said to the two figures at the door. "Hello."

Harry made a noise of utmost disgust that conveyed the feeling better than any words could have. Ron "whispered" (loud enough for Hermione and Draco to hear, of course), "I think I'm gonna hurl." Hermione thought the situation would have been hilarious if they all had not been on such bad terms with one another already.

_

* * *

When the friends are gone _

_When the party's over _

_We will still belong to each other_

—Shakira, "Underneath Your Clothes"


	25. Chapter 24: Dumbledore Part 2

Chapter 24: Dumbledore Part 2

"Any point for this _charming _visit?" Draco said around his sore tongue, his voice muffled by the palm he held over his mouth. Hermione looked down and quickly began buttoning her shirt, abruptly thankful that her Slytherin hadn't gotten far.

"Yeah, there is," Ron said indignantly. "Though, if you'd like us to come back at a better time…?" he added nastily, indicating Hermione, whose fingers were trembling so badly that she couldn't button her shirt properly.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! I can snog whomever I want! Get to the point of your visit," she snapped. "And knock next time." Draco slowly lowered his hand, smirking, and she felt her own mouth twitch in response. Fearing to ruin the moment, she shoved his smirk back at him. It would _not _flow over to her this time.

Harry sighed and looked at Ron, who was furious. The redhead swallowed his rage, turning an unnatural purple color before returning to his normal skin tone. "We _did _knock," he growled indignantly. Hermione frowned and looked down, thinking. She and Draco would have heard a knock…. The book that they'd been looking at was on a thick pile of Draco's clothing, and she realized what had happened. On that pile of clothing, the book wouldn't have made a sound. But if two boys had knocked (quite unfortunately) at the same time the book fell….

"Okay, you did knock. We didn't hear it," Hermione said, hoping Draco would gather what happened in her thoughts. "That still doesn't explain why you've come."

The two boys looked at each other, obviously debating. In the end, Harry spoke, "We wanted to be friends again," he said. Hermione could see that he and Ron both were holding back '_but after seeing that…_'. Well, it certainly wasn't her fault they'd walked in on her and Draco, and she was not about to apologize for it.

No one said anything. Draco's smirk slipped, and he ended up wearing a cold mask. "Why?" Hermione said at last. Her voice seemed hoarse in the silence, and Draco edged closer to her.

"Dumbledore wanted us to. He told us everything. But more than that…we missed you," Ron said. There was a challenge in his voice, daring her to say something rude or disbelieving.

Hermione did no such thing. She glanced over at Draco, and they mutually thought that it was something the headmaster would do. _Yes or no, Draco?_

_Your choice, _he thought back, and held up his hands to say that he had no part in the decision. Even so, he stepped closer to her, and she could feel him standing behind her and to the left, ready for anything.

_Are you expecting a fight?_ Hermione thought, alarmed. She shot him a sideways look over her shoulder.

_With you, I never know what to expect._ She had no time to be humored by this and turned back to the two boys standing in the doorway. "Come on in, then, it's no use shouting to everyone that we're in here." The two of them hesitated, and Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved her anger at Draco. This was not a good time to be getting irate. "Breakfast?" she murmured to him.

Draco growled in the back of his throat and struggled with her anger. The apology she sent him was largely ignored as he stormed out of the room to get breakfast.

Hermione gave Harry and Ron an apologetic look and moved to sit in an armchair by the fire that hadn't been there before. "So you came to make friends because of Dumbledore," she said laughingly. "Not exactly what I would have expected from him, but then again…I am currently one of the best in the game."

Harry looked somewhat alarmed by her speech and shared a glance with Ron. There was no way she could have known her words were so close to Dumbledore's.

"So what is it you really want? Surely you didn't come back here because you _missed _me," she said. _I will not get hurt by them again, _she resolved. Draco's thoughts snorted within hers, and she jumped in her seat. "Perhaps Dumbledore used some of his compulsion magic on you? Even if he didn't, I expect you simply want to use me to get to…my father," she murmured.

At that, the two Gryffindors cringed. Hermione smirked—that had been what she wanted. _Stop being such a bitch! _Her thoughts screamed. She wouldn't though, and she knew it. This was her barrier, her protection against them. If she continued to be mean and uppity, they could do nothing to hurt her. So she hoped.

The looks Harry and Ron were exchanging did not reassure her whatsoever. Her walls crumbled a little, and she cursed herself for daring to hope that they wanted to be friends again, and not just use her. "Oh my gosh," she whispered. "You really did just want to use me. How _dare you._ I am not a tool!"

By now she was on her feet and Draco was in her mind, worrying here and there, trying to set her to mind to rights. Dimly, she felt herself leaning against a wall, breathing in deeply and trying to sort everything out. She allowed Draco's actions to take over, and could feel her deep breathing mirroring his.

_Are you all right? Are you all right? Hermione! Hermione, answer me!_

_I'm fine, _she sent back faintly. _Thank you._

Blinking rapidly, she swayed on her feet as she drew her mind back into her body. Her anger was gone, Draco had swept it up into himself, and she felt drained, tilting back and forth there in front of the fire in their room. There was a heavy _plop _as she sat back in her seat. "Look," she said quite calmly. "Harry, Ron. I'm not going to help people who only want to use me. I've already done that once, and it did me absolutely no good." Hermione crossed her legs. "That mistake won't be repeated."

"But…Dumbledore said…" Ron began.

"Oh? Going to do something simply because Dumbledore says so? Yes, you two always were good at that. What you don't seem to realize is that _I will kill him_. What are you going to do then?"

Once again, all they did was stare at her. "Draco gives better conversation than you two," she muttered. No, she must not get annoyed. Feeling guilty, she pushed the irritation to the vague border between herself and the blond. Thankfully, he took it upon himself as well. _I owe you ten times over for this, _she thought with it.

If Draco replied, Hermione didn't know, because Harry leapt to his feet yelling. "How dare you compare us to him! After all the pain and trouble he caused us since the moment we got here, and you're _sleeping _with him, and _snogging _him and who knows what the hell else with him! It's disgusting, and so are you! I can't believe Dumbledore wanted us to talk to you and we actually considered it for a moment…!"

Harry continued, and after her initial surprise at his outburst, Hermione settled back in her chair with a smirk. At least he was talking now. "…And what the FUCK is that look for?" Harry bellowed.

Draco's laughter bubbled up in her mind. "Amazing. So you do speak," she said sarcastically. "I didn't expect _that _to be what set you off, but now that it seems you have crossed this imaginary boundary, maybe we can have an actual conversation." Harry's mouth gaped at her, and she couldn't help but snicker.

"Fine. Maybe we _don't _want to be your friend," Ron assented. "But we need you. That's what it comes down to." Harry stood, looking between the two of them in amazement. Hermione's eyebrows rose. This she had not expected, particularly from Ron.

"I'll accede to that," she said, giving him a tiny nod. _Touché,_ she thought. Draco's curiosity piqued, and she allowed him into her mind to hear the events. For an absurd minute, Hermione imagined the group of them sitting in an old-fashioned parlor discussing philosophy and sipping at tea. The moment passed and in her mind, she faintly heard Draco laugh at the image.

"Then you'll help us?" Harry said, flopping back onto the couch but leaning forward eagerly.

Hermione sat and thought. Logic warred with her emotions and with Draco's own feelings about this. Draco's feelings said _no, no, no, no, no._ Her emotions whined, _stay away, don't get hurt again._ But logic said, _think of the benefits to everyone._

The conclusion came to her as always, in cold, hard, logic. She breathed out a long breath that she didn't even know she was holding. "Yes. On one condition: you must be civil to Draco."

This time, it was Ron's mouth that dropped. Harry, however seemed to think it over. "He must be civil back," he said.

"You are in little position to negotiate," she reminded him and tucked away her smile. Harry's outraged look was worth it. "However…" she paused, and silence fell upon the room. The doorknob rattled, and Draco walked in carrying a full tray of food, which he set down on the coffee table. "Draco?"

"Fine, I'll be civil," he growled as he perched on the armrest of the armchair she sat in. Hermione smirked at the astonished look on Harry's face, and then grinned as Ron's face reciprocated it. Particularly from out in the corridor, there was no way he could have known what they were talking about. "Breakfast?" she asked, offering no explanation.

* * *

"Oi, get me a butterbeer!" Fred called across the room. His brother, grinning, picked up an extra three and headed over to him. 

"What do you think this meeting's about?" George asked, looking over to his mother, who was frowning in disapproval at the number of butterbeers he was stacking onto the table. He knew only as much as Fred did, but their mother may know more.

Much to their disappointment, Mrs. Weasley shrugged. Tonks seated herself energetically next to their mother and swiped a butterbeer. "Hey!" the twins protested simultaneously, but she simply grinned at them and swung her barstool around so that they couldn't reach. Her hair was currently long and dark blue, and her face made her look like she was sixteen, dotted with freckles and with a lightning quick smile.

Once her butterbeer was done, she conked it onto the table and leaned in close to the twins, who eyed her uncertainly. "You two know what this meeting is about?" she asked. They shook their heads, and she sat back on her stool, put out. "No one else does either," she groaned. "Everyone was summoned here with little to no notice, and none of us know what for."

There was the sound of the door opening and shutting, and Tonks jumped up and hurried off in that direction. Fred and George hoarded their own butterbeers closer to them as Lupin walked in with Mad Eye Moody. Tonks was already kneading them for information, but it was obvious that they either knew nothing or would not tell.

People filtered in until about eleven that night. Bill came in at half past eleven, out of breath and flushed from the cold outside. Fred and George took sympathy on their brother and handed him their last butterbeer, which he took gratefully.

At midnight precisely the room hushed, and everyone turned to look at the door, where Dumbledore stood. He had made no noise at all entering the house, which added to the expectant aura that hung over him.

"I have a great piece of news to tell you. I wish you all to hear me out before you begin to talk or question my judgment. If you have questions after, as I'm sure everyone will, I won't mind answering it then. But hear me out." Dumbledore looked around the room, and Fred and George met each other's eyes uneasily. Armed with this disclaimer, the meeting did not appear to bode well for hopes of good news.

"For the past few months, I have had yet another spy in the ranks of the Death Eaters. This one has, as of yet, been not very useful, but I anticipate that her value will appreciate in the future. I personally feel that Voldemort has been too reclusive for us to give Harry and good chance at defeating him. So I began thinking that I would need to do something…something to draw him out of his cave.

"It was then that this second spy came to me and gave me the answer to my problems. She gave me a way to do this. I believe that if I do what she suggested—however indirectly—that I may give us a fair chance at winning this war. The element of surprise will take us far, so I expect you to apply it generously.

"If all goes well, what I have _chosen _to do will give Voldemort a false sense of security. Hopefully enough to get him to loosen his security. I want the Order to lie low for a few months, pretend to disband or at least lose order. Wait for him to grow comfortable. Then strike.

"I have set this all up so that it may go with considerable ease. Harry and my contact are in touch with one another, and therefore he can see into Voldemort's ranks as almost no one else can.

"I am going to die. Now, before you protest, think. I may be a good wizard, but I am old. I had not thought to die this soon, but the opportunity has presented itself, and I believe it to do more good than harm."

Of course, despite earlier warnings, everyone was on their feet, shouting, protesting, or staring in complete disbelief. Dumbledore raised his hands for quiet. "Listen." Thankfully, the room fell silent, and he continued, "My death will secure my spy in Voldemort's ranks. She is already in his inner circle, and is intelligent enough to pass information to Harry without too much trouble. Not only that, but when I die, Voldemort will loosen the tight strings on his security."

Of course, after that, the meeting was chaos. It was four in the morning before everyone accepted that Dumbledore would not be swayed and they began to plan out what to do in the aftermath, putting together different arrangements for variables. Though no one would challenge him, everyone had doubt on their minds about Dumbledore's plan….

* * *

The girl next to him was sound asleep. Her thoughts had no consistency, and so he lay down beside her, safe in that she would not awaken. The urge to sleep was strong, particularly with the bond between them, but he struggled with it. This was the only time he had yet dared to think about what the Dark Lord had told him to do. 

Draco shivered at the memory. Though Voldemort's mouth had moved to Hermione's mission, in his mind, clear as a bell, he could hear the words, _Protect her at all costs. If she can't see her mission through, you must do it. Also…kill Snape. He has been disloyal._

The words weighed heavily in his mind. The first task was not a problem. He would fight for her no matter what. The second bit was worrisome, but he refused to think about it. It was the third order that bothered him. Kill Professor Snape? The man who had been so kindly toward Draco since he'd come to the school? Impossible.

And necessary. Voldemort would know if Snape was not killed. Unless Draco leaned occlumency enough so that the Dark Lord could not read his mind, it was an impossible mission both to do and not to do. Oh, the insanity of the Dark Lord…

"Draco?" Hermione whispered. He shoved his orders to the very back of his mind.

"Yes?" He asked her. Her eyes were beautiful in the darkness, deep pools in the paleness of her face.

"Are you all right?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he reassured her, settling down on his side and wrapping his arm around her. The position was far more comforting than he had ever noticed it to be, and he found himself releasing the tension that his secret tasks had placed on him.

"I love you," she whispered, squirming closer.

Draco clutched her tighter. "I love you too," he answered back, closing his eyes. This time he let the exhaustion overtake him, and they slept.

* * *

Dumbledore sat in his office rubbing his temples. There was a beautiful sunrise outside, and he took the opportunity to appreciate it. His days were numbered, and he felt the immensity of it more than he wanted to. The lightening sky was decrepit, clouds like places where a bad paint job had peeled off. Someone had drawn on the walls under the cobalt blue paint of the sky, vivacious reds and bubbly purples and loud oranges. With a miserable sigh, the professor touched his wand to his head and took the memory out, placing it in his pensieve. 

"Too much beauty," he murmured.

"Do you enjoy manipulating your students?" Phineas yelled as he came back into his picture frame. "Making Potter and Weasley dream of her? That is despicable! Can't you just let things be on their own!"

"And yet they still did not go to her on their own. Malfoy was a bad move, publicly, for her. But I think he'll be very useful in the long run," Dumbledore said calmly.

"You…you're just as bad as the Dark Lord," Phineas bellowed. The other portraits looked up in alarm, and a few even rushed over to try and shut him up. But the stubborn ex-headmaster would not be silenced, ducking and weaving through other frames until he got his point across. "Manipulating others until they bend to your will, dance to your tune, and what's worse is that you make them think that it's all their idea! You never admitted to them that you were sending them the dreams. You never admitted to them that you already knew _everything _that was going on!

"I saw you when she came in here to admit that she was working for the Dark Lord. That look of _surprise _on your face. And yet, you had known about it all along. You knew since the summer when she actually was initiated. It was like back in their first year, when you knew the three of them were figuring it all out, piece by piece. You did nothing, waiting for them to see it through.

"About the only thing you weren't expecting was them to go in while you were out on a trip, when you wouldn't be around to suddenly step out from behind your little shielding spell and reveal yourself and save them all. You are despicable!" Phineas finally stopped, huffing and out of breath. Five headmasters and three headmistresses piled on top of him, but the damage was done.

Albus Dumbledore looked sadly at Phineas. "You are perfectly right, on most counts. But I do it for a cause, Phineas. I am trying to rid the world of a man who seeks to destroy most of the population. What hurts more than the fact that you've just handed all my most shameful moments out to me on a platter is that I will die before my "tune" is ended, and all of my hopes are resting on the dancers to continue during that last prolonged note of it until it is ended with Voldemort's death," he murmured, turning away from the portrait in which nine headmasters and headmistresses were heaped atop each other, each of them staring at him in amazement.

Refusing to be so distressed in his last few weeks—if he even had that—Dumbledore took the memory of this conversation out and put it into the pensieve. He took out a piece of parchment from a drawer, with the words _To Do_ at the top. He crossed off _Meet with Order _from the list and looked at the next task. _Meet with staff._

"This will not be fun," he murmured. "But first…I need some sleep." Standing up made his whole body ache—he was too old to pull all-nighters anymore. _But these last days I have are precious…so precious…I can't lose them just because I can't stay up all night and still be fine the next day like when I was young._

* * *

A week had passed, and everyone was waiting with bated breath. If the school was water, someone had dropped some muggle electronic into it. The staff was jumpy, as were a few particular students, and the paranoid, frightened mood was catching. Only four of the student body knew what was really going on, and the rest made up rumors just as quickly as fire can burn a dry grass field. 

Hermione and Draco were tense, Harry and Ron were snapping at everyone, and between them all Ginny sat confused, for no one would tell her anything.

* * *

Two weeks now…Hermione and Draco rarely spoke to anyone, and their thoughts ran amok with one another, making for incomprehensible chains of thought. Teachers seemed angry with them and would kick them out of classrooms for fidgeting. This fed the wildfire of the students' rumors, and they all suspected that the odd couple had gotten caught having sex. Or worse, the rumors proclaimed. 

Everything and everyone was falling apart.

February fourth was a bad day for them all. The teachers, already stressed, were slowly going mad. Hermione was given a week of detention from Professor McGonagall when she managed to correctly transfigure a watch into a bullfrog on her second try. Snape was so frazzled that during a potions class, he took more points away from Slytherin than from Gryffindor, and overcompensated when at lunch he found a fifth year Gryffindor reading in the library. He deducted 25 points for reading too loud, and when the student protested (truthfully) that she had been reading silently, he deducted another 75 for talking too loud in the library and arguing with a professor.

Professor Flitwick suggested using Cheering Charms on everyone, but with all the students happy and smiling at their next class, most teachers lashed out.

Even Orlando, good, trustworthy Professor Wood, fell prey to the tension. When a student in his class was bitten by a pixie, he told her to walk it off because at least it wasn't _murdering_ her.

No one had reacted well to knowing that Dumbledore was going to die willingly, and prolonging it for two weeks had been torturous.

Hermione and Draco stumbled through classes and detentions so fast that Hermione was hard-pressed to do her homework.

"Just give it up!" Draco snarled at her when at one in the morning she was working furiously to finish up a two-foot charms essay. "They're going to fail you anyway for not dotting an i!" _Face it, Granger, they all hate us, _his thoughts whined furiously. She endured the momentary wave of hate that radiated from him and he felt ashamed by his outburst.

"Well maybe if _you _were doing _your _homework, you wouldn't _already _be failing!" _I can't just give up! _She shouted back into his mind. Thus ensued a cruel thought-war between them to see who could hurt the other more. In the end it was a draw as they climbed into bed exhausted and fell asleep, gratefully, in each other's arms.

February fifth dawned bright and early. Hermione was up, watching the sunrise. Waiting for the summons that hadn't come in the past two weeks. "I think," she told herself philosophically, "that this whole affair was made to drive me crazy."

Draco came in with breakfast right then and, sensing her miserable thoughts, promptly set the tray of food down on the table and slumped onto the hearthstones behind her. His arms wrapped around her, more comforting than the fire had been in the dewy sunrise. "Much as I don't want to do it at all, can I just kill him now and get it over with?" she whined.

Draco laughed humorlessly and leaned his head on her shoulder. His breath tickled her neck as he breathed, but he did not say anything. It was all right. Nothing he could have said would have reassured her that it was all going to be okay. What he did instead was more reassuring. He breathed warmly on her neck and kept his arms wrapped lovingly around her and his body protectively right up behind hers. "Always," he murmured, and she understood.

Classes were a living nightmare. Hermione just had yet to wake up. She kept the memory of how Draco felt wrapped around her in her mind and it made the whole thing minimally more tolerable. As soon as classes were over, she went straight back to the room of requirement, where Draco was waiting for her. She fell into his arms immediately, and had to give three sighs to encompass the troubles of the day.

Hermione was asleep within minutes. Draco shakily stood and carried her over to the bed. She was becoming gaunt, and carrying her was _much _too easy. "Love," he whined once he was next to her in the bed. "Please, don't kill yourself to do this." But she heard nothing, and her own thoughts held the frightful stillness of a deep sleep.

A burning pain in her left arm. Hermione sat up in bed immediately, rubbing her arm with her eyes wide with fear. Her back ached too, and she tried to clear her head of the pain. "Sorry," Draco whispered, and abruptly the pain was gone from her arm. The small of her back ached dully.

"What's going on?" she asked blearily.

"It's time," Draco said and got out of bed. He pulled on his Hogwarts robe and tied his shoes while still waiting for her to realize what was happening. While she was putting on her own shoes, he snatched the dragon dagger from under her pillow. She didn't notice and he tucked it into his belt. Just in case.

They walked through eerily silent halls. No one was active at this time of night, but there was a light shining under Orlando's door as they passed. They silently made their way to Dumbledore's office. The knock on the door sounded hollowly, and the headmaster's voice was unsettling as he called, "Come in," just as he always had.

"Ah, yes. So it's time now?" he asked as they entered. Hermione nodded, too choked up to speak. Professor McGonagall entered the room through a side door and stood severely behind his desk with him. Her lips were pursed, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

"You realize what you're doing?" The older woman said coldly, and Hermione shook under her gaze, palms slippery against her wand.

"Now, now, Minerva," Dumbledore chided. Turning back to Hermione, he said, "Let me just take out my last thoughts, and then you can kill me, and then please paint." Draco felt queasy, and Hermione nodded

Professor McGonagall went ramrod straight. Her lips were pursed, her expression frozen as Dumbledore took out four tendrils of memory and put them into the pensieve. "I'm ready," he said, turning to her.

Hermione's hands shook and she pulled out her wand. Draco was rooted to the spot. Would she really manage to kill Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of the age? "Avada Kedavra," she whispered.

There was a short blast of green light, and it hit Dumbledore's stomach. He fell back and clutched the desk, looking up at Hermione with wide eyes. "You can't…he said hoarsely, "You can't cast an Unforgivable without the feeling behind it. I thought you knew that." His eyes were pained. Obviously the little blast had hurt him, but still was not enough to kill him.

"A-avada Kedavra," Hermione said frantically. _I didn't mean to hurt him! _Her thoughts screamed. Draco shuddered back to life and tried to take her thoughts upon himself but couldn't. He simply didn't have enough skill.

This green burst had the same effect, and Hermione was almost in tears as Dumbledore slumped to the floor, fully conscious and clearly hurting. With his back to the desk, he looked up at her pitifully, and her wand dropped to the floor. "Finish it," he said harshly.

Abruptly, Draco knew what to do. He pulled out the dagger that he had tucked into his belt and handed it hilt-first to Hermione. His thoughts jostled against hers enough that she turned around and saw what he held in his hand. Trembling, she reached for it and took the dragon dagger in her hand. There was no mistaking the relief on Dumbledore's face.

Hermione knelt by her beloved professor and leaned over him to hold the blade to his throat. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. His blue eyes peered at her behind half-moon spectacles for one time. The last time. Hermione steeled herself and whisked the blade across his throat.

Blood. Too much blood. This was worse then Louis Frunge, worse because Dumbledore had done nothing wrong. Hermione freaked out. "No!" she yelled, dropping the blade. She suddenly wanted very much not to have done that as she held her hands to his throat, trying to keep the blood in. Dumbledore gargled a sigh and blood dribbled from his mouth. Hermione held his throat crazily, trying to keep in all that blood…

"Professor!" Draco squealed. McGonagall, who had been immobilized by Dumbledore's wand-less spell, was now trying to get at Hermione. Draco was now grappling with her, trying in any way he could to keep her from Hermione. "He was willing!" Draco grunted. Hermione picked up the dagger and stood up so that they could get out of there and let Professor McGonagall have time to cool off.

After that, everything happened very fast. The door burst open and Snape rushed in, letting out a cry of shock to see blood all over Dumbledore and on Hermione, whose back was to him. Draco pulled his wand and immobilized Professor McGonagall. Snape covered the room in three large strides, but Hermione looked up at the noise of the door slamming against the wall and turned around.

The dagger was held out straight in front of her, and Snape walked straight into the sharp steel. Hermione shrieked as the man collapsed onto her and fell over Dumbledore's legs. Snape fell on top of her, and the dragon hilt jammed into her hip, driving the blade deep into the stomach of the head of Slytherin house.

Draco scrambled to get the professor off of her, but it was too late. Snape was dead. "I didn't mean to," Hermione stammered. "He walked right into it! I swear…" her eyes were wide and scared.

Professor McGonagall was standing with her eyes just as wide and wild as Hermione's. She had dis-immobilized herself wand-lessly but had been too shocked by what was happening to move.

It was McGonagall who spoke at last into the silence of the room. "What have you done?"

Neither teenager could find the words to answer her.

_

* * *

Be strong when things fall apart, _

_(Be strong when things fall apart)_

_Honest, this breaks my heart_

_It's so hard…_

—Blink 182, "Please Take Me Home"

* * *

**Spastic Asian: **Um...I never really had a set time for exactly when the CB was made. But sometime in the two days where they were being...(pardon) S & M-y. I would agree that it may have begun when she cut herself, but I think I...er...the "book" said that both people had to be feeling the pain. Or something. My own thoughts on the subject are muddled, because I changed my mind so many times on just what exactly I was to say about it. 


	26. Chapter 25: The Unexpected

A/N: This would've been up earlier, but fanfiction wouldn't let me...

Chapter 25: The Unexpected

There was a slow moan, and it filled the emptiness of the room. Hermione's frame snapped upright, and Draco's mirrored hers. Professor McGonagall's jaw hung slack, and as one, the three of them knelt by the potion's master. There was another pained moan, and Hermione jumped up. _This, _at least, was an unexpected stroke of luck. If you could call it luck. Snape would probably hate her for life after this.

_Alive, alive, alive,_ the thoughts sounded in her head as she dashed out of the room. She could not have run faster if a dragon was breathing fire behind her as she sprinted to the Hospital Wing. _He has to stay alive, _she thought desperately. _Wait until I have Madam Pomfrey!_ Draco gave a mental nod, though the thought had not been meant for him intentionally, and her aching throat and heaving lungs were spurned to a greater speed.

Hermione crashed into the door at the Hospital Wing, and it took all the effort she could muster to open the door, to make herself take those last steps. Every limb in her body felt like it was on fire, and she knocked wearily at the nurse's door. It pulled open under her fist, and she tottered in front of it, exhausted from her sprint. "Please…Professor Snape…in Dumbledore's office. Stabbed in…stomach. Hurry," she expelled in a rasp.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened, but this was what she was trained for. "How deep? How long ago?"

"Ten minutes, maybe. Deep," Hermione said hoarsely. Madam Pomfrey pushed things into her arms and bustled around her office. It was surprisingly quick, and then she took everything out of Hermione's arms and flooed somewhere else, leaving Hermione alone in the deserted, moonlit room.

The floor was welcoming as she slumped down onto it in a corner, staring blankly at the wall. "Oh my gosh." Her voice was high, and scratchy. She still panted from her run. Hogwarts _was _a castle after all, and no one, apparently, had thought it a good idea to put the headmaster's office anywhere near the Hospital Wing. Hermione ached in several places from where she'd fallen. She didn't even remember falling.

The door whined a warning as it opened. She didn't even bother to look up from the dark corner of the infirmary. It was all right. Draco knew she was there. He drooped onto the floor next to her, an act so slow that it tired her. "They think he's going to make it. She took one look at Dumbledore and was furious. Her lips were pursed just like McGonagall's when she got to work on Snape."

"Draco," Hermione whispered. He shifted and pulled, and with some squirming, she was safely tucked in his arms. Her body ached, and Draco just held her close. They breathed together, and held each other, and both of them slowly calmed down. It was a cold, dark corner, and she could feel his hatred. A small whine emerged from behind her closed lips and the emotion was gone. Tentatively, she reached after Draco to find his mind walled off completely. Hermione sighed.

On the cold, hard floor of the Hospital Wing, in a corner so dark that not even the moonlight could find them, Draco and Hermione fell asleep.

A sharp _tut tut-_ing woke up the young couple. Madam Pomfrey was standing over them, and Hermione felt all of her bruises as she stood. Her lips were pursed, as Draco had said, in a fair imitation of Professor McGonagall. "You two should change and get to class," the witch said coldly. They slunk out of the room.

It was a good thing that they had not been awoken until after breakfast had started. Very few memories had to be cleared on their way to the Room of Requirement. No one could know that Hermione had any part in Dumbledore's death, and the blood all over her clothes would incite more rumor than was healthy.

They walked into their room and didn't even bother to walk behind screens to change. Draco put the bloody dagger onto the nightstand with a shudder and his wand followed it. They each gathered their clothing and turned their backs to change. It was too much effort to bother being paranoid and hiding behind screens. Right now, they were both too tired to worry about the other peeking.

Draco coughed when he was done, but did not turn around to her. He pulled on his robe and roughly smoothed back his hair while she finished dressing, then snatched his wand up from the small table as they left.

* * *

Ginny was just as shocked as everyone else when at breakfast Professor Dumbledore's death was announced. She scanned the high table for Orlando to find that he wasn't there. Did he know? What did this mean? Dumbledore, dead? Impossible. And, yet, judging by the furious looks on the teachers' faces, it had to be. Snape was missing too. 

Ron had seemed to notice this as well. "You don't think…?" he murmured to Harry. Harry's green eyes shimmered behind his glasses, but Ginny was surprised that he managed to keep a straight face.

"I do think," Harry growled. "I can't believe it, though." Ron shook his head in agreement, and Ginny stood up from the table. This had to be a joke. She had to find Orlando, he would know. She made her way up to his room and her hands shook as she knocked sharply on his door.

A bedraggled, sleepy Orlando pulled the door open. "Yes?" he snapped, and then looked abashed. "Sorry," he apologized. "My nerves are a little shaky right now."

Ginny skirted around the open door so that he could close it and opened her mouth to tell him when she stopped dead. The teachers had known. They'd all been going crazy the past two weeks. They all had known that Dumbledore would die. Or they were all supposed to pretend he had died and were so dissatisfied with this that they got angry.

"Are you okay?" Orlando said. She examined the purple under his eyes.

"I'm fine," she said coolly. "But what about you? Sleeping well? Sleeping at all? Nervous about something?" she prodded. Her temper was flaring, and she tried, belatedly, to smother it. No use. "How about Dumbledore's death? You knew about it, and didn't tell me," she accused.

The older man stiffened on the way to the kitchen to make tea. "So it's happened, then?" he asked. His voice shook, and Ginny frowned.

"What do you mean, _happened_? What is going on? Why has Professor Dumbledore faked his own death?" she asked shrilly.

"It's not faked," Orlando deadpanned. "Unless he contrived to trick us all. No. Two weeks ago he came to us and told us all that he was going to be killed—willingly—by someone and that this would only strengthen our efforts to knock the Dark Lord off of his throne. None of us believed him, but he would not be swayed…"

Ginny listened to his explanation, and her mind refused to understand it. She stood there, gaping at the back of her beloved friend, and could not for a minute comprehend what he was saying.

* * *

Harry and Ron sat there in silence after Ginny left. They longed for somewhere to talk to each other without being overheard. Just then Hermione and Malfoy walked in, hand in hand. They looked wild, as if they hadn't slept all night. Hermione's shortened hair lay mostly smooth, but a few pieces stuck out oddly, which, oddly, made it seem more feral than if it had all been frizzy and distended. 

Malfoy looked to be in even worse shape. His hair, normally slicked back perfectly, was only roughly pulled back. He looked just as undomesticated as Hermione, and had the overprotective air of a loyal watchdog, snarling at anyone who so much as looked at her. For the girl herself, she walked as if in a dream and her gaze was blank and locked straight ahead except for occasional glances at Malfoy. Grateful glances.

They displaced the whole Slytherin table in an effort to sit between Crabbe and Goyle. The thug-like boys held a cautious conversation with the blond, and then nodded eagerly, cracking their knuckles. Hermione had her head on the table, and Malfoy ate sparingly with one arm. Harry suspected that the other was wrapped around the girl next to him.

Then the mail came, and disaster struck.

**London Attacked!**

So the headline of the Daily Prophet screamed. There was a picture of the Dark Mark floating above a macabre image of a devastated street in London. The houses were decimated, nothing but deep piles of ashes on the ground. _No trace of bodies found…_the article reported. _Still looking…_ Harry caught snippets of the article before everyone went crazy.

A chaos so deep then ensued that the professors would not have been able to control everyone if the doors to the Great Hall had not been locked. When, or how, was still uncertain, but try as they may, the students could not open them. Frightened older students grew angry and frustrated, and spells ricocheted off of walls and pillars and dishes. The younger children screamed and cried and huddled in packs under the table.

It was many hours before the unfathomable pandemonium died down. In the meantime, while some students calmed down after a time, other students fired up. Generally docile fourth years grew fed up with all the arguing and hexing and impromptu dueling going on and stopped protecting the first, second, and third years, stepping out into the crowds and trying to break up the quarrelling upper levels. Thus, more violence followed.

The younger students padded softly amongst the older ones as they assisted Madam Pomfrey. They handed out a paste for burns and other general-aid items. If anyone needed something specific they would have to hand their wand over to Hagrid (the most imposing of the teachers) and move on to Madam Pomfrey, who stood behind the high table.

Harry had tried not to join into the ruckus, but had been unable to help himself after an hour. Ron had caved in a bit over thirty minutes, joining the crowd with a frustrated growl and a hex on his lips. Now he rolled onto his side, almost into some vomit. Grimacing, he sat up, cradling a pounding head. Harry had no idea what had hit him.

Hermione trotted over, somehow looking perky. She had cuts all over her body, a black eye, and her clothing was stained with food and blood. Her hair was long again, down to her knees and smoothed into a soft waviness with the sheer weight of it. Even stranger was the bright half-green, half-silver of it, which was also speckled with blotches of dark blue. Her robe had been burnt and hung only a bit lower than her shirt on one side, and past her knees on the other, and her skirt underneath was scorched.

"You all right, Harry?" she asked with a wide grin. "You look like you got out of the worst of it." He was too worried to look down at himself, but allowed her to pull him to his feet.

Malfoy walked casually up behind them, looking like he'd slept through the whole thing. His shirt and pants were clean, if a bit rumpled, and his hair was slightly more slicked back than it had been earlier. He looked Hermione over with a grim smile and said, "You should get cleaned up."

"I see you already have," she retorted. Draco smirked at her back as she turned back to Harry and ushered him over to the high table to get fixed up. She left him, and came back a bit later with Ron, who looked like he'd been badly beaten. There had been quite a few students who abandoned their wands and had begun brawling. Apparently Ron was one of them.

Crabbe and Goyle retrieved their wands from Hagrid and walked back to Hermione and Malfoy. The four of them walked away to a far corner of the hall. There was a grunt in front of him, and Harry handed his wand over to Hagrid so that Madam Pomfrey could fix him up.

* * *

Hermione calmly let Draco fix her hair and cut it to mid-back. He changed it back to its normal color as much as possible (it was a bit lighter than her usual color). There was nothing to be done about her robe, so she just took it off as he had done. However, she had not managed to keep her clothing underneath clean, so she still looked messy, with her scorched skirt and stained shirt. 

"Good enough," she yowled when Draco began examining her black eye. "Unless you know a spell off the top of your head for healing one of these, you can leave it!"

"I'm sure Madam Pomfrey could fix you," Draco suggested. Hermione glanced at the line and shook her head. _She has too many to deal with already._

"Thank you," she said, turning to Crabbe and Goyle, "For shielding most of the blows. I'm sure I'd look a lot worse if not for you two." The boys looked abashed, and then pleased. Crabbe gave her a slow smile, and she returned it readily. Draco's thoughts sniggered in her mind as he realized something, _why would anyone cast a cheering charm in the middle of a fight?_

Hermione smirked back at Draco and shrugged. _Honestly, I have no idea._

_I wonder who it was really meant for...?_

It was surprising to realize that it was only ten in the morning. It felt like the fray had taken much longer than that. Slowly, the students settled down on benches covered in a multitude of unpleasant things. By eleven o'clock, the hall was silent. The students all sat at their tables, too drained to do anything but breathe. Only the younger students had breath to speak, and they were too worried about setting off the school again to do so.

Professor McGonagall stood. "You all should be ashamed of yourselves. London was attacked, and Professor Dumbledore is dead, but that doesn't allow you all to behave like animals.

"However. We do understand that you needed to dispel your emotions some way, which is the only reason we allowed this to happen. It would have been stopped if anything got _too _violent." Hermione smirked. _Yeah, as if they could have stopped that if they tried._ Draco silently agreed. "This will not be allowed as an excuse again. Any more fighting will result in drastic measures.

"As current headmistress of Hogwarts, I am appointing Professor Wood as head of Gryffindor house." She glanced down the table to where the professor should have been seated. "Uh…he's not here right now, but I'm sure he'll accept his duties…? Anyway, I'll talk to him later about this. Right now, everyone is to attend their classes like normal. NO ONE has an excuse to be out of class right now. UNDERSTOOD?"

Right then, Professor McGonagall, with her strict bun and gleaming eyes, looked just as scary as Voldemort. Students sat there agape, and slowly everyone nodded their comprehension. "Good," said the new headmistress, sitting down behind the table. After a minute, when no one had moved, she barked, "Why are you all just sitting around?"

Predictably, there was a scramble to get to the door and out of the Great Hall as soon as possible. Amazingly, everyone was very mellow after the outbreak in the great hall. After classes, almost everyone sat docilely in their common rooms, frantically writing letters home. There was no more fighting that day. Or the next. Or the one after that.

A few nights after the event, Hermione made her way alone to Dumbledore's old office. The shadows were eerie, and the portraits all glared at her. Her nerves jangled uncomfortably, and she shielded her mind from Draco. She had to do this one alone.

Dumbledore's portrait lay on the desk in front of her, untouched. His pensieve and a narrow paintbrush lay beside them. With shaking hands, she reached for the brush and dipped it into the swirling silver thoughts in the pensieve. She ran the brush over the portrait and was about to dip it again before she noticed a corner of paper under the pensieve.

Hermione carefully balanced the brush across the bowl and lifted it to slide the paper out from underneath. It was labeled to her. She carefully tucked it into her robe and continued to paint the portrait.

* * *

It was after the weekend that everything began to turn sour. Classes, which had been fine on Friday, were a nightmare for Hermione and Draco. Rumors spread faster than ever about the two of them. Professors singled them out, and were magnanimous with detentions for the two of them. Even Professor Flitwick was cold toward them. At night they cuddled in each other's arms, too paranoid to sleep, and too exhausted to stay awake. 

On February the 13th, which was a Friday, Hermione and Draco left the school. They packed up their belongings and went to see Harry and Ron one last time. "You're sure you know how to get there?" Harry checked for the umpteenth time.

"Yes, Harry. We know." The young man grimaced at the plural and then eyed the blond next to Hermione suspiciously. "Now, calm down. And do your schoolwork. If you slack off, I will be very disappointed with you," she warned. Ron frowned—she sounded like his mother.

"All right then," Ron said, when Harry said nothing.

"Here," Harry added somewhat sullenly as he took a step back from them and pulled something from the pocket of his robe. "Take this. Ron and I have one. All you need to do is say something into it, and it'll vibrate. One of us will pick it up, and then we can talk to you, no matter where you are. They were…" Harry didn't finish that sentence, but handed her a little mirror.

_Sirius, _she thought, and her eyes mirrored Harry's sadness. "Bye," he said quietly. Hermione quashed the impulse to hug them both and tell them she'd be all right.

"Bye," she told them both equally quietly and turned around. Draco nodded slightly at them and shrugged his heavy coat into place before following after her.

The air outside was blustery, and Hogsmeade Station was empty. The wind whistled around the pillars shrilly, and the two teenagers snuggled up behind the dubious shelter of one of the tall columns.

Dawn splattered across the stormy sky as they watched. Hermione, squished between the thick concrete and Draco, shivered and buried her head in Draco's jacket. She twisted to the side to watch the sunrise, which was truly a work of art. For once, she was grateful for her thick, unruly hair, because it kept the cold off of her ears.

_Right now, people are asleep in their beds…_ Hermione thought wistfully. _I wish we were too, _Draco finished for her. _But they all hate us. It's going to be all right, though._ The sigh he breathed moved her hair and allowed a draft to whisk across her ear. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him as close to her as he could be.

_I'm cold…_

"Still?" Draco said out loud. "You've got four layers on, and you're still cold?" Hermione nodded, and her teeth rattled together uncomfortably. To make matters worse, Draco stepped away from her, allowing her to be buffeted by the cold wind, and pulled off his coat. He handed it out to her with raised eyebrows. She tried to smile, but knew that it was a thin at best. The coat was warm and heavy as she pulled it on. It went down to her knees, and she gave a wan grin at this and Draco came back to sandwich her between himself and the pillar.

It began to snow.

The train pulled up at the station at long last, and Hermione and Draco staggered to it. Draco's lips had a blue tint to them, and his ears and cheeks were flushed. She probably looked even worse. With a final chill down her spine, she boarded the train behind Draco, giving one last longing look up the trail towards Hogwarts.

_My home_, she thought with a pang.

Draco slid his hand inside the heavy jacket Hermione wore and placed a tentative hand on her hip. She sighed with reluctance and followed him fully into the relatively empty train. They chose a compartment, and snuggled up together on the seat in an attempt to regain their warmth. Hermione cast a few spells to seal their heat in the compartment. In about fifteen minutes, the teenagers were stripping off layers upon layers of clothing.

Hermione lessened the spells, and they sat in the now-comfortable temperature of the compartment in tee shirts and jeans. "I miss Hogwarts already," she whined.

Draco grunted, and it may have been an attempt to cover a laugh. His thoughts revealed nothing to Hermione, and she looked up at him. "I know you do," was all he said, kissing her forehead.

"I…I never thought my schooling would end like this," she murmured after a while. "I would've been top of our class," she whispered.

Draco tightened his grip around her, and it was comforting beyond measure. She sighed….

* * *

Draco shook Hermione awake. "I think this is our stop," he told her. She blinked sleep from her eyes and scrambled off his lap to look out the window. It was too snowy to tell if this was true. Hermione glanced at her watch. The time seemed about right. 

"Okay, then." They stepped off the train and into the cold world outside. Hermione looked around, getting her bearings and then set off in what she was sure was the right direction. After nearly ten minutes of walking, she stopped and looked up at the house in front of her.

"Number 12, Grimmauld Place," she said loudly so Draco could hear over the blustering storm. She couldn't help but smile a little. "Let's go."

Hand in hand, they walked to the door.

**

* * *

**

_All these reckless nights, have left me spinning out of control.  
Is there not a cure for sorrow?  
All these faded lights, have made me search for something more._

—Mae, "Painless"

**Spastic Asian**: I thought about having Snape die there, but he may be useful later on in the story, so I decided to keep him. But, yes, if he had died there it would have been immensely cliché indeed. snorts Walking onto a blade has happened a bit too often. And Snape is cool enough that he deserves a more interesting end.

And S&M is sadomasochism….you can look it up….

**brunetteheartsredheadsandskittles**: I actually did not forget about the Dark Mark when she was showing people her back. If you're thinking about when she was showing it to Ginny/Orlando, then that was why she pulled up her pants before lifting her shirt. Though I did not say specifically that that was the reason for her pulling up her pants, I did say she pulled them up. And if you're thinking about when she was in the hospital wing because of her injuries...well, you can change people's clothing without seeing their back, ans so that's what I'm saying happened there.


	27. Chapter 26: A Delay

A/N: I wanted this chapter to end on a good note, and I finished it Monday night but had to find a suitable song to fit it, so that's why it's so late.

Chapter 26: A Delay

Hermione and Draco's greeting at Number 12 Grimmauld Place was somewhat frosty. Yet it was not Hermione who elicited this response, it was Draco. This fact tipped her off that no one there knew it was she who had killed their precious Dumbledore. So she kept her lips shut on this, and Draco wisely followed her example.

Draco, however wise he was about keeping the dealer of Dumbledore's death quiet, was not so smart about his other actions. Responding to the adversity he found at Grimmauld Place, he became defensive and snooty, often reverting back to his trademark smirk and a skeptically-raised eyebrow. Sadly, the cycle only looped back within on itself, as Draco's response brought out even more snide comments and suspicious whispers, and in turn he shot back more sneers…. And all Hermione could do was sigh and wish it was not thus, but it was unfair to tell him to stop if the others would not.

Many of the members of the Order were gone, anyway. At least half of the people usually coming in and out of the house did not any more. When Hermione had asked Mrs. Weasley, she had said not to be worried, they were all simply off doing business for the Order. Prodding for more information was of no use, the redhead pleaded ignorance with a look in her eyes that said she knew all.

"Underage my ass," Hermione growled into her pillow. Molly still considered her an underage wizard, which, she was sure, was why she was not told where the other members were. "I am seventeen!" The irritated sigh was lost in the emptiness of the room, and abruptly, she wished Draco were at her side.

Of course, it was improper, and incredibly unnecessary, and horrendously implicative (of things that had never happened) for Draco and her to continue sharing a bed, now that they were safe within the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Even so, the small bed felt cold, and she nervously tossed and turned without Draco there to guard her side. Jealously, she wished she could fall asleep just as easily has he had. His head had barely hit the pillow when his thoughts went still and cobwebby with sleep.

His incoherent thought chain lapped against her mind as waves do against the shore. It was not enough, however, to draw her into sleep any more than waves could submerge an entire tree by only touching upon its roots. With a groan, Hermione tossed the blankets off her body and shivered in the abrupt chill. She tiptoed across the room and rooted around in a closet until she came up with three more blankets.

Shivering already, she piled these atop her other ones and burrowed in beneath them. They smelled slightly moldy with disuse, but did the trick, warming her up sufficiently. What seemed like hours later, Hermione fell asleep, only to dream of a warm body beside her and possessive arm keeping her safe throughout the night.

* * *

Draco was sick. Miserable and only half-conscious, but irrevocably ill. Upon waking, his head felt heavy, his throat dry, and his eyes seemed to burn when he tried to open them. A curtain shunted the daylight away from his face, but it lightened the room enough to wake him anyway. He muffled a groan by pulling the blanket under his head and shivering beneath it. His nose felt as if it would fall off, it was so frozen and he seriously wished that Hermione's warm body was next to him to heat him up. 

There was a knock at the door, and he suddenly wanted to cry with frustration. Draco Malfoy _never _got sick, and faced with the obvious fact that he was now made him angry with whomever dared to disturb him.

The lock on the door snapped open, and the door squealed as it opened slowly. The noise made him want to yell at whoever was opening the door, or at the very least throw an anvil upon them. Maybe _then _they would understand his want for peace. "Draco?" Hermione's soft voice called out.

"Wut?" he said thickly, only then realizing his nose was stuffed up. His attempt to answer "what" had come out embarrassingly uncivilized, and he was glad she couldn't see his shame burning his cheeks under the blanket.

"I brought you some breakfast," she said softly, though that may've just been the blankets over his head. He imagined that her voice was uncertain, and darkly entertained thoughts of snapping at her. But no, that would be mean, and he was feeling absolutely awful. "Are you all right?" he heard her say, and this time the uncertainty was not imagined.

"I'm fine," he grunted.

Her scoff did not go unheard, and he began to regret his earlier thoughts of kindness for not snapping at her. "Draco, it's almost one in the afternoon. You never sleep this late. You are not fine," she said, with that annoying tone of superiority in her voice.

"Go 'way," he yowled, and was embarrassed by the unnatural pitch of his voice. A Malfoy's voice should always be perfectly disciplined, with no cracking or breaking or hoarseness even throughout adolescence.

Draco could feel the bed compress next to him as she sat down. Hermione's dim thoughts—almost crowded out of his mind completely with his own wretchedness—were all the warning he had as she carefully pulled the blanket away from his head.

"You're sick," she said decisively. The girl examined his face and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, his cheek, the side of his neck. He shivered at her exquisitely lukewarm hands against his burning skin, though he felt cold as ice. "You have a fever," she said, recoiling slightly. "I'll go see if Mrs. Weasley has any medicine. Oh, this is all my fault for not wearing enough layers yesterday. I'm so sorry," she said, leaning over cautiously to place a kiss on his forehead. "Be right back."

Draco almost wished she wouldn't come back. It'd be better for him to sit out this misery all alone. He shivered and pulled the blanket back over his head.

True to her word, Hermione was soon back, making that indent in the side of his bed once again. "Here," she said softly as she pulled back the covers again. He shakily sat up as best he could, and was surprised when she propped him up on pillows. The glass in her hand allowed him a view of a frothy blue liquid.

Looking up at Hermione piteously, he made a face at the drink. Her face immediately changed from one of concern to admonishment. "Drink it," she commanded, handing it to him. With a soft groan, he hesitantly reached for it, and grabbed it from her when she glared at him. He would rather drink it on his own, with his dignity still about him than have her dump it down his throat.

The first sip of the potion was interesting. He could hardly taste it, with his nose stuffed up as it was, but what he did taste was rather unpleasant. He licked the fizz off of his upper lip with a scowl and eyed the glass with detest. _Best get it over with, _he thought, suddenly more wretched than before. With a single gulp, he drained half of the glass, and then after a breath of air, determinedly swallowed the rest of it. Hermione took the empty cup from him, and he tossed her an annoyed (and exaggerated) look of disgust at the brew.

Hermione, however, seemed only amused by this. "Hey, I drank it too," she protested. "And it wasn't all that bad," she chided him gently. But then she leaned over and tucked his blankets around him tenderly. "Go back to sleep, Draco," she murmured as she kissed him. He saw the concern on her face as she ran a hand through his sweaty hair.

And then she was gone, whisking out of the room with a quiet weariness that said she'd not slept well. He felt a pang of longing for her to be at his side, just before he sank deeply into the dark well of sleep.

* * *

That night, Hermione fell into bed only to hear a crunching sound. Rolling over in exasperation, she pulled out a crumpled letter from under her. Curious, she flipped it over only to see a seal in the shape of the Dark Mark. Her eyes widened. She had just told Mrs. Weasley that afternoon that they needed to replace the highly selective shielding ward that had disappeared with Dumbledore's death. For one of Voldemort's letters to get in to Grimmauld Place was a big deal indeed. 

Hermione sighed and resolved to work with Mrs. Weasley on the ward tomorrow, but for now…. She turned her attention to the letter and opened it carefully.

_Dear Hermione,_

_We haven't had a meeting in a while. Do come to MM and feel free to bring that boy with you. There shall be a party like none ever before. I will need you here tomorrow (Sunday) at 2 PM to work with plans. I am sure that by now you have figured out how to make portkeys, so go ahead and try one for yourself. If you haven't then I shall send one to you if you are not here by 2:15._

_Most sincerely yours,_

_Tom_

Hermione blinked slowly at the letter. "Thanks for the early notice," she muttered sarcastically, but carefully folded it up all the same. Fervently, she hoped the potion that she'd given Draco early that afternoon would have him well enough for the party. She mentally touched upon his thoughts, which were muzzy with sleep and illness.

Frowning softly, she got ready for bed and lay down. If they were to get the wards up tomorrow, she'd have to wake early, and then she and Draco could make some flimsy excuse about going to town for the day or something. _Does Mrs. Weasley even know that we're staying indefinitely and not just for the weekend?_

Snuggling into the bed, she waited for her warmth to heat up the cool sheets. A yawn cracked her jaw and the room swam in front of tear-filled eyes. Blinking away the yawn-induced tears, she tiredly curled up on her side and waited for sleep to drown her.

* * *

Draco felt dejected. Upon waking up in the middle of the night, he had felt lonely. His head still throbbed heavily, but he could breathe through his nose again by now, and his throat was not quite as sore. He coughed into the shadows of the room. 

It had taken him a while to orient himself in the darkness, without Hermione by his side. He desperately wanted her there with him, and it was her absence that had kept him up for the last hour. Slowly, he pulled his achy body out of bed. _Hey, I drank it too, _he remembered her saying. Hopefully it would keep her from getting sick (was that why she'd taken it?).

At the last minute, he snatched a pillow up from his bed and clutched it to him as he wove his way through the quiet house. A light was on downstairs in the kitchen, and he momentarily thought about going down there for more of that awful potion. But no, if it was one of the Weasley twins or just about anyone else who hated his father for being a Death Eater, then he would simply be parading his vulnerable self out there for them to see. Not a good idea.

Foggily, he turned down the right hall (or what he thought was the right one…) and headed toward the end. Knocking on the door, there was no answer, and when he opened it up, it was only a small closet. Draco frowned and leaned against the door, wracking his brains to try and remember where her room was….

A door across and down the hall opened, and Hermione came out, with her hair messy and even bushier than usual. "Draco?" she said with a yawn. Her eyes tried to focus in the dark of the hall, and Draco stood up straight, trying not to clutch the pillow to himself too hard. Hermione's eyes registered this at last, and the corner of her mouth turned up. "Get in here," she said, almost ruefully, swinging her door open wider and disappearing beyond.

Draco didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

Voldemort paced the floor angrily. "She should _know,_" he grumbled to the elegantly wrapped box sitting on his desk. "She should _know _how to make a portkey," he said. The clock on his mantel said that it was already 2:08. She should be here by now. 

Just at that moment, there was a very ungraceful crash and holler. He looked around for the source but was confused and disconcerted to find none. "Um…hello father. Sorry I'm late," Hermione's voice stuttered. "I just need to…find a way down…" he could hear the fear in her voice and finally looked up….

Hermione was perched on the top of his bookcase, looking extremely uncomfortable. The Malfoy boy was crumpled awkwardly on the ground next to the bookshelf, groaning softly. "Oh, Draco, are you okay?" Hermione asked, turning quickly and almost falling off the shelf.

"M'fine," he muttered, slowly pulling himself to his feet. Voldemort noticed that the boy looked sick, pale and rather flushed (for a Malfoy). He had dark circles under his eyes, which were puffy and bloodshot and heavily lidded. As if to confirm the Dark Lord's thoughts, he gave a body-wracking cough.

"Here, Chicklet," Voldemort said kindly, conjuring a ladder and carefully aligning it against the side of the bookshelf. Hermione pinned him to the spot with an unexpected look of utter gratitude. Voldemort imagined that if he could have, he would have blushed as red as one of those detestable Weasleys.

As it was, he was immeasurably grateful that she had to turn her back to climb down the ladder, and thereby missed the pale pink that overcame his pasty cheeks. _No. Do not feel anything. You _will _kill her at the end of this, do not let yourself soften._

The Malfoy boy coughed again, and Voldemort eyed him in annoyance. He would rather that his daughter didn't bring her little pets along, but he looked ill enough to hardly comprehend anything that was going on. Irritated, but careful not to show it too much, he conjured another chair for the boy if he did later want it.

When he turned back, Hermione was down from the ladder and looking uncertainly at the height of the bookshelf she'd been sitting upon not five minutes ago. A weak laugh escaped her. "I guess I need to work on my portkeys. But that _was_ my first one," she added, seeking some little bit of praise.

In fact, she needn't have added that hopeful high note to her comment. For a first try, for her to even appear in the correct room was an accomplishment. No matter that she ended up atop a bookcase with her partner falling to the floor. "Impressive for a first try," he agreed. With a frown, the Dark Lord added, "You really have had so little experience with making portkeys?"

Hermione's glow at the praise dimmed, and she shook her head sadly. "Not making them," she admitted, helping the Malfoy boy onto the cushy armchair in front of the desk that he'd put there for her. She herself settled into the straight-backed chair beside it.

Voldemort came to their side of the desk and gave an unsure glance to the Malfoy boy. He had nothing to give him, but then again, it wasn't _his _fault that she'd decided to bring the boy along before he'd counted on her to. "I have a present for you," he said, tenderly plucking the gift from his desk.

He could not help but feel a slight thrill of excitement as she ripped through the paper and curiously examined the box to find the opening. _No, you do not care what she thinks._ The fact was, he'd forgotten how much he actually _enjoyed _the young girl's presence. The simple, unguarded eyes of hers, and the sheer, unadulterated joy she got when he doted upon her made him feel...bubbly.

Shaking his head to get rid of his thoughts as a dog shakes itself after a bath, he turned his attention back to Hermione, who had finally gotten the box opened. She ruffled through the tissue paper and then froze at a glimpse of what was underneath. "But…sir…father…" she stammered, standing. The box fell to the floor, but she was grasping the item underneath, so that when the box slid from her lap the dress was revealed almost as if a curtain had been thrown off of it.

It was a dress. Not dress robes, but a dress. It was full-length, silk, and pale blue, with a low-but-not-indecent neckline and flowing sleeves. The back was low, and tied up like a corset with blue silk ribbons. The ribbons were thick enough that if she tied them right, she could hide the scars on her back while showing off her Dark Mark.

"But…" she began, and then her eyes returned from their blank look to become serious, and her mouth set. "You can't keep just spending all your money on me," she scolded. "I mean, there's a million other things you could be doing with the money you spent buying this dress for me." She continued, but Voldemort was no longer listening. A smile played around his lips at her sudden transition from blithering idiot to scolding know-it-all.

He straightened from the desk and went around to the side with all of his drawers, opening one where another gift lay wrapped. "…listening to me?" Hermione sputtered in exasperation.

Voldemort glanced up at her and closed the drawer. "Right, I almost forgot this part of the gift." Hermione looked as if she wanted to glare at him but was holding back. And there, even deeper in her eyes was a want to be loved, to be doted upon just as he was doing now. Holding a straight face, he handed the box to her and resumed his post leaning against the desk.

There was a tightness to her lips that Voldemort wished he could overlook. Clearly, she _was _annoyed he'd spent so much money on her, and had not just been searching for something to say. Well, she would have to deal with it. With Malfoy in his hand, he could afford almost anything he wanted.

Speaking (or thinking) of Malfoys…his attention turned, momentarily, to the boy who was slumped in the soft armchair next to Hermione. While his position was almost completely lax, and he obviously wasn't feeling well, his eyes were fever-bright and attentive, watching the proceedings with interest. There was a small yelp, partially of delight and partially of amazement, which brought Voldemort's attention back to his daughter.

"Oh, my…but these must have cost a fortune!" she protested. She reached into the box and plucked out one of the two ornamental silver hair combs. The pair of them were shaped like butterflies, with pale sapphires set into the wings for color. Hermione looked up at him with a pained and yearning gaze.

Without warning, she dropped into a low curtsy. "My lord," she admonished quietly, still bent towards the floor, "You have no need to buy my loyalty. It was yours from the start."

This did not have the effect that Lord Voldemort would have expected it to have, had he ever imagined such an event as this. His jaw dropped, and he stared at the young girl, who was still bent over in a pose of utmost submission. "My dear girl," he began, and was amazed to find that he was actually hurt by her assumption. "I am not trying to buy your loyalty. I am only trying to give you what any loving father would give his daughter, did he have such money to spend. It just so happens that I do."

Hermione shook, and he liked to imagine that she was moved by what he said. He had surprised himself by actually meaning it, in fact. But the reality was that she was probably shaking from holding the curtsy for so long. At length, she straightened and gave him a tired smile. It was the only apology he would get, he knew.

"I'll be back," the Malfoy boy said into the silence. He shakily stood, getting his bearings, and walked over to the door and out into the hall. They were, after all, in Malfoy Manor, (or at least on a far corner of the property) and it was technically his house.

Hermione picked up the dress from where she had draped it over the arm of a chair and carefully put the comb back in the box. She glanced at Voldemort, holding up the dress in a question. Belatedly, he remembered about the shoes he had bought for her, but decided he could give them to her later. He nodded in response, and she left the room also, to try the dress on. When they were both gone, he allowed his shoulders to slump. "You're not supposed to like her so much," he growled to himself.

The room mocked him with its silence.

* * *

The ball that night was extraordinary, if not the best ball she and Draco had been to. It would have been better if Draco was not sick (though he was faring better than he had earlier that afternoon during their visit with Voldemort), but he doggedly kept up with her. 

The Death Eaters were all congratulating themselves on their successful London raid. Narcissa was certainly a guest of honor for her work on the plans, and Voldemort had even acknowledged her as the producer of the plan. The dagger Hermione had used to kill Professor Dumbledore was put on display for the evening, and many people came to hug and kiss her (which was a bit unnerving, when some Death Eater she did not know would come and kiss her full on the mouth—however, most of them stayed on her cheeks and forehead) and commend her for the excellent execution (in more ways than one) of the plan.

Although it was a truly awful thing, Hermione somehow found herself giggling excitedly along with the other Death Eaters. Later, even, she was telling them all (much to her own amusement) about how she couldn't use the killing curse on him and had to just slit his throat. She embellished the story a bit, saying how he put up a fight, but _of course_ he was no match for her without his wand.

When the party finally began to die down, Draco (who had stubbornly stayed by her side for the whole ball) took her by the elbow and led her up to the stairs. Hermione pranced beside him, and she could feel that it was taking all of his effort to keep her under control and himself in a dignified state long enough to get them to his room. "What's wrong with me?" she murmured, suddenly feeling sick. Her stomach groaned a protest and for a moment, she settled down enough to walk.

"I slipped some alcohol in your drink," the blond boy answered her truthfully.

Hermione broke into a grin and let out a high-pitched giggle. "You got me drunk?" she asked, suddenly finding the whole situation amusing.

Draco nodded wearily and turned down the hall. She followed him, fairly skipping in her shoes. "I knew you wouldn't be able to handle all the praise otherwise. So I got you drunk so you wouldn't have to deal with it until later." He leaned against the wall and braced himself for a coughing fit.

Hermione was staring curiously at a portrait, leaning close to it and then pulling away to make her eyes focus and unfocus, as if trying to see if there was something deeper there than layers of paint. She giggled, and Draco came up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist tightly and almost dragging her down the hall. It would seem that he had just gotten a new burst of energy since they were so close to his room.

"But I was looking at that," she complained quietly.

"No, you need to sleep now. You'll have a hangover, and I'm sorry for that but at least all of _them _thought you were nice and sociable tonight and not fidgety and nervous. Look, I know this means very little to you right now, but I'll never do something like this again, I swear. It's just…you got in there, and I saw how scared you were when they started to praise you, so I just thought, why not?"

He shoved her almost roughly into his room and turned, carefully locking the door. Draco turned and eyed her, and then also put a complicated locking charm on any exits to the room before taking away her wand. "Look, you can stay awake or not, but I'm tired and sick, and I'm going to bed now. Please, don't try to leave the room. I'm not sure all of those Death Eaters are sober enough to remember to keep their hands off of you," he said quietly, taking off his shirt and shoes and climbing into his bed.

"Well…why aren't your hands on me?" Hermione asked. The tone was innocent enough, but when he looked over at her from his bed, she had a soft pout to her mouth, as if seriously unable to understand it. Her eyes flickered with a deeper understanding, though.

"You're drunk, Hermione. Leave it be," he said, rolling over onto his side to look at her. She really was beautiful. The light from the fireplace glinted off of the sapphires of the butterflies in her hair, and made the silk shine strangely. The dress clung to her chest and hips, making her appear curvier than she actually was. With her brows together in a soft frown of confusion, her bottom lip stuck out just a little bit…in that moment, he wanted her so badly that it hurt.

No, he couldn't deal with this. Her thoughts tangled alluringly at the edge of his, but he kept himself away from that and shut his eyes. She was drunk, and he would _not _take advantage. Hermione was silent for a while, and the moment seemed to drag on forever. Draco couldn't sleep, and he carefully peeked at her from under almost-closed eyelids.

Hermione's mouth was moving as she spoke softly to herself, swaying slightly in front of the fire. Draco wished he knew what she was saying, but knew that the only way to do that was to venture into her thoughts. He wouldn't mind doing that, except that she may catch him up in her own (alcohol-induced) randy desires, and who knew if he'd be able to stop.

She turned, and her wide, innocent brown eyes met his across the room. Her head tilted a bit, considering, and then she walked over to his bed. Kneeling beside the bed put her at about the same level as him. "Draco, I think I'm in love with you," she whispered to him. Her eyes were serious, and a little bit scared, as if this frightened her. But it was the truth, he knew.

"Hermione," he breathed, savoring her name. One of his hands clenched his sheets. He would not touch her, not tonight, not while she was drunk. "I love you too," he murmured, and despite himself, leaned over to kiss her tenderly. "It's my fault you're like this," he kept his eyes closed as he whispered, more to himself than to her, "I won't take advantage," he reminded himself, still not drawing away from her. His lips were almost upon herswhile he spoke.

Draco was just about to pull away when Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. For a second, he could not help but entertain the idea of taking advantage of her. She _was _practically throwing herself at him. But if he did, she would never forgive him, and he would never forgive himself. She was not so drunk that she would forget what happened tonight. With a ragged sigh, he dragged himself away from her. "I can't do this, Hermione."

He scooted away from the edge of the bed and rolled over onto his other side. He closed his eyes sadly, ashamed he'd even considered for one minute that it would be okay to do that to her. Drawing up the comforter, he coughed into it quietly.

It seemed like forever before the bed dipped at his back. "Draco?" Hermione asked quietly. He rolled over and looked at her. Her eyes glinted in the dark, but he couldn't read them. "I'm not so drunk that I don't know what I was asking for." Her hand came up and ran through his hair. He really didn't know what to say.

Leaning over, she kissed him lingeringly. She was still tipsy, he knew, but fighting for a sober mind for all she was worth. Hermione sat up and took the butterfly combs out of her hair, placing them on the nightstand. She shook out her mane of hair, and then deftly wrapped it up into a bun near the top of her head. Holding it there, she turned her back to him a little more and asked, "Will you undo my dress?"

With shaking fingers and his protests dying on his lips, Draco sat up and reached over, slowly untying and then unlacing the dress. "Thank you," she said primly and with a wide grin (oh yes, Draco was now certain she was still tipsy). Then she stood and walked calmly over to his wardrobe and pulled out some clothing, going into the bathroom to change.

When Hermione came out later, she carefully laid the blue dress over the back of a chair and got into bed with a sigh. Draco didn't dare find out what that sigh was for, and pulled her close and wrapped his arm around her. _Sober enough to know what she was asking for, _he thought sadly. Had he known that, he may not have turned her down as he had.

"Goodnight, Draco," she murmured sleepily.

"Goodnight, love," he said. But by now he was wide awake. He could feel her muzzy thoughts drifting away and wished his were too. Draco turned his head away to cough into the blankets and then put it heavily on her shoulder. Her hand came up and rested on his hair, which was already becoming damp with sweat from the heat. She even tilted her head slightly so that her nose rested pleasantly against his forehead.

Shivering and sweaty, it was a while yet before he managed to sleep.

* * *

Hermione awoke to a pounding headache. She gave a soft moan and felt someone stir next to her. What had _happened _last night? 

There had been laughter, and praise, and Hermione had laughed along with it. A multitude of people in black and some white. Draco's face, pale and flushed and colored with firelight. And…why was she not wearing a shirt? She edged away from the boy beside her, who was looking up at her with feverish eyes. Clutching the blanket to herself, she eyed him apprehensively. She didn't _remember _them having sex, but that didn't mean it hadn't happened.

His fingers had been warm as they'd touched her back when he'd untied her dress for her. She shivered at the memory, and winced at what had probably followed. "Draco…?" she said hesitantly. "Did we…?"

He gave a short bark of laugher, propping himself up on one elbow. "It's all right. You got hot in the middle of the night and took off your shirt. I would know," he told her, looking as if he would wink if he had the energy, "because your elbow hit me." As if to prove this, he rubbed a spot on his jaw like it ached.

Hermione nodded slowly, accepting his story, and leaned over the edge of the bed to look for her shirt. _I won't take advantage, _she remembered him saying distinctly. But she had wanted him to take advantage (not now, butat the time,she had). _I am not so drunk_… the words floated back to her and she winced, sitting up straight. She had been throwing herself at him, but…

Oh, right. "You got me drunk," she accused, turning to him. It was impossible, why on earth would Draco do such a thing, but…she had never before acted so lustfully while sober, and it would explain the headache.

Draco sat up, and she clutched the blankets to her chest and hoped they wouldn't fall off of her like they had him. "I did. And the party was better for it," he said, sliding out of bed and going into the bathroom. Hermione stared indignantly after him, and only allowed herself to slump back into bed once he was gone.

"He's right, I know. It would've been an awful show of Death Eater pride if I had been moping the whole night and not laughing and telling stories along with the rest of them. But still," she whispered, running a hand through her hair only to get it tangled up. "If he ever does that to me again…" _I swear, _he had promised. Chronologically, the events of last night were hard to place, but if she tried hard enough, she could at least remember everything that had happened, or most of everything.

Her stomach gave a fitful grumble, and she untangled her hand from her hair to rest upon it. _I'm hungry, _her mind complained.

"You need to eat," Draco said as he reentered the room, startling her. "And I'll see if I can get you something for your hangover." He came over to the bed and kissed her forehead lightly. "Be right back, love."

Once he was gone, Hermione got out of bed, wrapping her arms around her bare chest in the chill of the room. In fact, the room was not cold, but it was colder than the sheets of the bed had been. She looked around for she shirt she'd put on last night, and when she couldn't find it went and got another one.

Fully clothed once again, she looked around the room. The dress she'd worn last night was hanging over the back of a chair, and she could clearly recall laughing and trying to get Draco to dance with her (she never had been able to keep much of a rhythm, so if she had danced, chances are she would have been ever more uncoordinated than ever). She winced, both from the headache and from embarrassment at what she'd done while drunk.

The analytical part of her brain began to click. _As far as hangovers go, this is probably not so bad. I was almost sober by the time I fell asleep, so this is just a fraction of what I would be feeling if I had been completely drunk when I went to bed. Even so, it _hurts, she thought.

Draco's thoughts bumped against hers comfortingly, and she crawled back into bed to await his return.

* * *

"But I thought you two were going back to the school," Mrs. Weasley protested their arrival late Monday afternoon. Her gaze turned suspicious. "Where were you two last night?" What she was really asking hung sticky in the air between them. Draco smirked before Hermione could stop him, and she playfully shoved him into the bushes. 

"We were too tired to walk all the way back here last night so we stayed at a hotel in town. In two _separate _rooms," she reassured the worried redhead. "I forgot to set an alarm, and Draco only ever wakes up when I wake him up, so we both missed the train. I think if we get on one as soon as possible, we can make it back for dinner tonight. Now, may we go inside and pack up? The longer we waste time out here, the less chance there is of us catching the 3 o'clock train," she warned.

Mrs. Weasley looked frostily between the two of them, still not buying Hermione's answer, but stepped out of the way at least. That was all that was really needed, and she and Draco walked past her, the latter a bit more brusquely than was strictly necessary.

They packed up, and Draco shrunk and placed their luggage on his person while Hermione said her goodbyes. Finished, he leaned nonchalantly against the doorway to the kitchen with a sneer while Hermione fluttered around to everyone in the room like a butterfly to flowers. A word here, a solemn nod there, and occasionally a giggle and swift hug. To the Weasley twins she paused longer, a frown on her face as she said something in exasperation, sparing a half-annoyed, half-understanding glance his way. In the end, the twins were hugged too, but the looks she gave them as she came back to Draco were reproachful.

"What was all that about?" he asked, leading her out the door.

Her lips twitched up in a soft smirk. "They wanted me to know that they were highly disapproving of my choice in men and added that if you ever hurt me it would be the only excuse they would need to murder you." She eyed him sideways with the same critical look she'd given the twins before leaving. "You may have been a bit nicer to all of them. Now they doubt my judgment, and it may in the end turn the tides for the worst…" her voice became distant, her eyes pained as she imagined the consequences.

Draco did not apologize, but reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. _It will be all right, _his thoughts murmured, but she could feel his doubt.

* * *

Malfoy Manor was cold and stony. Draco showed Hermione to a guest room, which surprised and dismayed her. She had been counting on sharing his rooms again. "Thank you," she murmured softly as he shut the door behind him. 

Confused by his isolation of her, Hermione began to unpack into the drawers and wardrobe. She hung up the red dress from her very first ball, and then also the blue one from the most recent ball, and the white one from the Hogwarts ball. In the back, she even found a once-white dress with iridescent beads and speckled with red….

She was startled to realize that she really had no idea what had happened to this dress after that night. And the fact that it was in _this _particular closet made her wonder how long Draco had been expecting her to use this room. Stiffly ignoring the chill that shot up her spine at that, she turned around to examine the room. It was done up in mostly pale blues and silvers, accented in places with a deep black. A door on the far end of the room led to what was most likely a bathroom. She wondered if it was as lavish as Draco's but decided against checking it out right then—her eye was caught by something else.

A large bookcase took up half of the largest wall. She was drawn to it, and looked upon its shelves to find an astounding variety of books, mostly from the wizarding world, but there was a whole shelf and a half of muggle books (it seemed, actually, as if it was a complete collection of Shakespeare's works, but she did notice some others). Hesitating, she looked around the room. _Is he coming back?_ she wondered, and the thought was narrow and quiet with uncertainty.

She hovered, half expecting Draco's mind to chuckle reassuringly and wrap itself around hers, but either he did not feel like responding to her small thought, or he hadn't heard it. After a few minutes, she sadly turned to the bookshelf and picked one at random, setting on a window seat to read it.

Hermione tried to concentrate on the book, she really did, but her thoughts kept going back to Draco, and finally she was too depressed to read, so she carefully put the book down and leaned her forehead against the cool glass. The window fogged up with every exhaling breath she took, and she struggled not to drown herself in her own misery. With a shiver (but that might have been because the cold window was seeping through her body), she realized that she'd become dependent on Draco. Not a particularly reassuring thought.

A soft groan escaped her, and she looked up to meet her eyes in the window. The fog spot her breathing made temporarily blurred the image, and she slowly relaxed herself, letting go of her sadness. As unexpected as if ice water had just been dumped over her head, Draco was in her mind, a worried flurry of confusion. _Are you all right? What's wrong? Are you okay, did something happen? What…? _His frantic thoughts pulled her out of whatever tranquility she had achieved and she sat up straighter, pulling her head away from the icy glass.

_I'm fine, _she thought back in confusion. _Calm down. _She tried to convey the calmness she'd had before he'd entered her head, and once he was not as frenetic (but, restful as she was at the moment, she could feel him wherever he was, panting) she asked, _What brought this on?_

_You wanted me, _he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. _You even called me. I was worried something was wrong._

Hermione turned back to the window and pressed her face against the glass, looking out at the roses under her window. No black ones there, though. _No, _she answered back lazily, a good half a minute after he had finished thinking.

Draco didn't reply back, and the next second, Hermione's door was practically blown off its hinges. She jumped, startled, and was engulfed in his arms before she even had time to react. "I was so worried," he said raggedly into her hair. "It was just like this huge gush of sadness and it was all cold, and…" He trailed off and just hugged her tighter.

_A delay? _Hermione wondered quietly, keeping the thought from Draco, who was now running his hands up and down her sides in a worried fashion. _But why would there be a delay on my feelings to his? This _is _a Compassion Binding, after all. If not thoughts, emotions should be immediate._

The blond seemed to sense that something was off, for his hands stilled low on her hips and he turned his face in toward her neck. His breathing gave her chills. _What are you thinking about? _He asked uncertainly.

_Nothing at all, sweetheart. Absolutely nothing, _she replied, tucking the strands of her doubt in a corner of her mind.

* * *

That night, Hermione lay in the cold emptiness of the blue bed. It seemed disproportionately long to either side of her, as if she were laying on the vastness of a floor and not a bed. Somehow Draco had made her seem protected and secure, not like she was on a cold pavilion that stretched in every direction, so clear for everyone to see. She shivered, and tried to burrow down in the blankets. 

Originally, they had not meant to stay at Malfoy Manor as they were now. But it seemed clear that Grimmauld Place was unsuitable, for Draco did not have a satisfactory background amongst those there. Right now, though, Hermione longed for the cozy comfort of the small house, and not the cold vastness of the Manor. She wasn't even quite sure where Draco's bedroom was in relation to hers, or she would've been out of her room without even laying down on that perfectly made bed.

A sense of stealth came over her, and her eyes widened in the dark, trying to see without a light. The light in her room, though, was perfectly adequate for seeing (dim, but adequate), and she frowned softly. Realization came over her, and her mouth turned into a smirk. Relaxing more, she could feel herself in the hall with Draco, stealing behind a corner to let a house elf pass, and then heading straight down her hall…

In her mind, Draco still had one more hallway to go when there was a soft knock at her door, and it opened without delay. Hermione sat up in bed, instantly reaching under her pillow for a wand. But it was only Draco, and when he turned to her with a grin, she could not help but frown. There was most certainly a delay, for he had been almost all the way down the corridor when the knock had come.

In reaction to hers, Draco's own smile slipped. He became solemn instantly as he came to stand by her bed. "I thought…I thought you were going to come to me," he said quietly, like a child who feels so neglected that they need to ask if the parent hates them. Hermione's breath puffed out of her, and she reached out her arms to him. He hesitated, and then took off his cloak to climb into bed with her.

"Quite honestly," she said, letting a soft amusement infuse her voice while she carefully hid the doubts about the delay in the corner of her mind, "I have no idea how to get to your room from here."

Blessedly, his own humor was instantaneous in her mind, and he wrapped his arm around her, and she forced herself not to be bothered about the delay.

For now, at least.

_

* * *

And late night calls  
are only daylight souvenirs.  
And think of me tonight  
when everyone leaves and you're alone, _

—Sherwood, "The Summer Sends Its Love"

**Heather:** "why were Hermione and Draco leaving Hogwarts when no one else was?" All the teachers knew that they had killed Dumbledore, so they were all being mean. I know that sounds petty, but the two of them killed someone all the teachers loved, and if someone you loved was murdered, and you knew who the murderer was, I think despite your attempts at civility, you'd still end up being at leasta _little _resentful. I said: "Professors singled them out, and were magnanimous with detentions for the two of them. Even Professor Flitwick was cold toward them." And even in earlier chapters, the professors were already a bit angry with them because they knew what they were going to do.

**AS-SIN-WATI**: You are right, I rarely recieve constructive criticism on this site. And even my friends, who read my original stories, aren't very generous with criticism. I think that for this site, most people go around looking for stories to read and not to criticize (and my friends are probably just afraid to hurt my feelings). I understand and accept this fact, but would enjoy any constructive criticism they would have to offer me.

I do agree that you can tell when my writing is rushed. Going back through my chapters is often tedious, because I'm like "gosh, I could've made this part better and that part differently, and oh my gosh, this section is absolutely awful!"

And you're right, my story doesn't need HP background at all. As you have pointed out, Voldemort sometimes disappears from chapters, and I will make an effort in the future to make sure that it is not so, because as you said, "you'd think he would be so central to this plot". And, well, you're right. I mean, sometimes I do find it pointless to work in the word "Voldemort" when it's obvious that everything they're doing revolves aorund him in whichever part I am writing, but sometimes he _does_ disappear completely, and Hermione and Draco are off doing things that can't possibly have anything to do with Voldemort.

"My favorite part of your story is by far the Compassion Binding. I hope, hope, hope that was your own idea. I haven't come across it before- if it is yours, congratulations. It was brilliant in several different ways. " Thank you very much for the compliment. I am almost certain it was my own idea, if influencedat all by other works. This was one of the few things where I was writing and it just sort of happened, as things do with me. It wasn't something I planned out at all, but suddenly it was like, "wow,I can feel what he/she is feeling". And then, of course, I had to come up with a way to explain it, and since Hermione knows just about everything, and what she doesn't know about, she's read some obscure reference to, I utilized that to explain it to people. But it sounds like some people were still confused with what was going on, which made me a bit sad.

"I'd be shocked if you haven't come up with dozens of ideas- for new worlds, new characters, different times. Try your hand at something fresh, and completely your own." Oh, trust me, I have. But the problem is that I start projects, get caught up in school, and never get around to finishing them. I'm working REALLY REALLY hard on one in particular right now, because I have promised myself that no matter how hard, I _will _finish it one way or another. I imagine up random scenes, beginnings, plotlines, endings, parallels to other stories, alternate versions of well-known tales so often that I end up with all of these papers just floating (well, more often on the floor of my room) around everywhere. But by the time I come back to it, I realize I have no way of portraying it as a story, or working in such a beautifully written scene (usually they are really beautifully written, because if they've stuck in my head long enough for me to write them down, I've built up on it and elaborated) simply because it doesn't make sense with whatever I'm writing.

That was a really long reply. Just one last thing:

**Recommendations for other stories**: _I Won't Walk Away _by Slytherin Girl, also _Temporary Insanity _by Arbitrary, and_The God of the Lost _by Gravidy. Those are all pretty thick and have nice long chapters (it really bugs me when chapters are so short I'm hitting the "next" button every 5 minutes, and I really like long stories), and _I Won't Walk Away _is the only one finished at the moment.


	28. Chapter 27: Catastrophe

A/N: So I like…fail. At writing. I'm sorry for such a long wait, and would like to thank all of you faithful…waiters/reader peoples. Much love to you all.

Personally, I think this chapter is kinda crappy. I have sort of lost the thread of this story. There should be about 3 more chapters in it before it's finished, maybe a bit more. I promise I'll try and make those last few chapters better.

PS TO ALL: No, I have not forgotten aboutDumbledore's letter. It just hasn't come into play in the story yet. Be patient!

Chapter 27: Catastrophe

"How much longer do you think it will take?" Hermione whispered frantically into the mirror.

"I don't know, but they're having a pretty hard time seeming to disband while actually all meeting up at the same place. And they're hard-pressed to find places here where they can lie low during the day. Hogwarts may be big, but it was not made to secretly accommodate what is, essentially, an army," Harry snapped back.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at his tone, and he had the grace to look abashed. But then she sighed, "Forget it, I think we're all feeling the strain. I don't know how much longer I can stall here. They all want to go out and raid. I know that the point is to lull them into a sense of security, but the amount of pillaging they want to do is ridiculous, and I simply cannot allow it. On the other hand, I don't know how long I can hold them back."

"I understand. Hermione, we can't find Lupin. He disappeared with the werewolves. I think Fawkes, if he was here, could find him but we don't know where he is either. Hagrid has a few giants hiding out in the forest here, and Tonks keeps dropping in to give me the new digits. We have no more than a quarter of them here," he said. Hermione wished they could speak more frankly with one another, but there was really no way to be sure the conversation wasn't tapped. However, pretty much anyone watching out for this kind of conversation would know that Harry was talking about the Order and Hermione was speaking of betraying the Dark Lord.

"Well, keep me updated. I'll try to keep the death toll down, but I'm not sure how much I can do before my stalling becomes obvious. See you next week," she said. Harry nodded, and the mirror's surface rippled into a regular mirror,distorting Harry's features intoher own.

"How goes it?" Draco murmured, giving one final look around them before plopping onto the grass beside her. He had been standing guard, ready to give warning at the first sign that anyone was around.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. "Not so good on either end. Barely anyone is there, and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up. I think I may have to just allow them to go on all the raids they want, unless we want people to look upon us with suspicion."

"Which we don't," Draco finished for her. His thoughts were comforting against hers, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I just don't know what we should be doing right now. Dumbledore's not here to guide us and…ugggh," she said, ending in a groan.

Draco smirked, "Didn't you say something like that to Potter and Weasley when they came asking to be friends again?"

"Yes, there's no need to point out that I'm being hypocritical," she snapped back.

His smirk widened momentarily, but he fell silent. "I'm sorry," he murmured, just as she sighed, "We shouldn't lash out at each other like this." Draco nodded his agreement.

A sudden, heady rush of pain hit the two of them. They sat dazed for a minute, and then jumped up at the still-unfamiliar summons. Even after almost a month of working with Voldemort and twice-weekly (or sometimes more often) meetings, they were still unused to the sudden burnings of their dark marks.

The sudden burn slowed to a fiery ache shared between the two of them as they walked towards Malfoy Manor. The walk stretched as never before as they battled to remain calm and go to their destination. _I wish we could apparate, _one of them thought, and the couple both nodded in agreement.

Once they were inside Malfoy Manor, the pain in their marks had subsided for the most part. They wove through the house until they reached the parlor. Draco shoved aside a desk and clicked open a catch. The small tunnel opened, and the two of them crawled into it. "It's so annoying that there isn't a door just _leading _to this place," Hermione grumbled.

"I know. But it was supposed to be this way so the Ministry couldn't find it. You _can _apparate there, if you can apparate at all, and if you know where it is. I hear you have to put blood on the wall of the room so that it will allow you to get in there, but that may just be a rumor," Draco replied.

The end of the tunnel dipped, and they were finally able to stand. Hermione and Draco paused to brush the dust off themselves before continuing. Draco pulled out a small dagger in the darkness and unsheathed it. Before he made the cut, he turned to Hermione, "Is this for the Inner Circle, or all Death Eaters?" he asked,thinking aboutthe invisibility cloak in his pocket.

"I think it's for all of us," Hermione said uncertainly. She felt him nod, and then the brief pain across his palm as he cut it.

"By the blood of the Malfoy line, I demand that this door open," he said imperiously, pressing the bloody hand against the wall. It rotated slowly inward, giving the couple time to have their eyes adjust.

The room was crowded, but the Death Eaters parted before Hermione. She took Draco's hand so they wouldn't become separated and they walked toward the far edge. "Sorry we're late, father," she told Voldemort, dipping her head in greeting. Belatedly, Draco nodded his head as well, and went to the outskirts of the crowd while Hermione went to stand next to the Dark Lord.

"Now that we're all here," Voldemort addressed the room, "We must plan our next attack. Crawdy!" he barked.

"My lord," a hooded figure said, stepping out from the crowd. Hermione fidgeted—neither she nor Draco were wearing their Death Eater robes.

"How are we doing?"

"Sir, we have most of the giants under our control. They seem most…willing to aid us, in return for more lands. As we have promised the dementors their fun with any muggles and wizards who do not wear your mark, they are eager to do your bidding as well. The centaurs we have not been able to convince or even find, but we have managed to capture a few more dragons for your disposal." Hermione may have imagined it, but she thought Crawdy's eyes flickered in her direction at the last. She held her head high and sneered a little bit.

"Very good," Voldemort told him as he stepped back into line. "Malfoy, what's our wizard support?"

"About half, my lord," Lucius's voice said.

Voldemort frowned and scanned the crowd. "We need more," he murmured unhappily.

Some Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably, but maintained their silence. Hermione took a breath, two, then, "How…how many will oppose us if we attack?"

Lucius straightened, looking off into the top corner of the room. His face was completely bland as he calculated. "Maybe a third of the whole population. Probably less. While not all are openly supportive, some prefer to remain neutral, to choose the winning side after. Our side," he asserted.

Hermione glanced sideways at Voldemort. He looked content, even a bit proud. She felt a pang for her own father and looked away uneasily. She hadn't thought of him in a long time.The Dark Lordnodded quietly to himself, "Okay. We'll start the planning."

Hours later, the meeting was ended. So far, they had decided on several locations, but no official plan of action. Voldemort did not want to be spread very thin, and the numbers were hard to figure out. How many Death Eaters could take Hogsmeade? It all depended on undefined variables, who was there at the time, who was a permanent resident, how powerful everyone there was, in what state of mind (it was well known that a drunk or sleeping wizard was no match for a fully alert one)...

Too much was unpredictable. In the end, it was decided that they would be taking Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade and a few other major wizarding towns. It would be hard, and Death Eaters would be spread thin, but they had people working to figure out how to tilt the odds in their favor. For example, if a Death Eater could produce a strong patronus, it may serve to confuse or distract other wizards enough to take one or two down without much trouble. It all just had to be factored in.

That night Hermione and Draco stretched out on his bed. "I never knew planning a war would be this hard," she sighed.

"You were brilliant," he said quietly. She didn't miss the note of sadness in his voice.

"It was either push things forward and earn favor or do nothing and earn nothing. He may have asked it himself in a minute. I just managed to get there first," she pointed out. _But it will only cause pain, _they thought.

"They would have attacked anyway, sooner or later. Don't bother yourself about it, love," Draco reassured her. They rolled over onto their sides to face each other, and he held out his hand. She took it, and they hardly moved for the next few hours, though they remained awake, lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

Tonks nervously patrolled the corridors of the castle. It was a dreary place now that Dumbledore was gone. The students who had stayed weren't as carefree as they had been on all of her previous visits, and even the ghosts were looking depressed. She wished this whole affair could be done with so that no one would have the stress of the imminent war. _Poorkids, _she thought, _they feel it too, and they still have to study._

Shaking her head in wonderment, she was caught off guard when someone grabbed her sleeve. Her wand was out in a flash and she had almost fired off a spell when a familiar voice said, "Please, Tonks, calm down. It's just me."

"Remus," she breathed. She whirled angrily. "Don't scare me like that." Her breathing was still rushed, but she tried to look dignified.

"Harry has new news. I thought you would like to know," he said quietly. His lips were pressed down in the corners as he held in his laughter, but other than that his face was perfectly somber.

"Okay, I'm coming," Tonks said, trailing after him. They traveled in silence through several corridors, ducking into an alcove when a pair of students snuck by. The fact that they had to hide from the students normally amused Tonks, but having Remus so close to her was doing funny things to her heartbeat and she couldn't find the humor.

The room was dimly lit and crowded with members of the Order. They were all squeezed together onto the classroom benches, and Harry was up at the front, sitting on top of the teacher's desk. The boy's legs swung nervously, but his face was utterly bland.

"That's most of us," Remus said to Harry and he led Tonks to a table somewhere near the front. Harry gave a short nod as they squeezed into a space that should have only fit one person.

"Okay then," Harry began. "My…er…source has just informed me that Voldemort is planning to attack Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, Carrow, Greshel, and Talford, all major wizarding communities. We have to do what we can to see them safe and sound without anything looking odd. As we have done before, I think it would be all right to evacuate the children and new mothers to a safer place. Are there any other ideas?"

Tonks swallowed a sigh of relief as Remus stood up (having him so close to her was making her strangely uncomfortable) and transfigured a large chalkboard behind Harry. On it he wrote a table with all five towns on it. "Thank you, Harry," he acknowledged, and Harry hopped down from the desk to take the narrow space beside Tonks.

The next two hours were spent trying to figure out where to house the children, and just how many wizards needed to be informed of the imminent attack. Already some of the Order was working on duplicating mirrors like Harry's, but with a special function so that they were keyed into only a few people. Those who knew could carry false wands that functioned like real ones so that they could hide theirs away for use later. The more Death Eater slaves that were armed and ready to break out, the better.

As the flow of suggestions waned, Harry leaned more and more heavily on Tonks's shoulder. She waited until he was half-asleep before suggesting that he find his bed. Wearily, he nodded and clapped her heavily on the shoulder. Hardly anyone noticed him leave, so lost were they all in their own misgivings and ideas.

* * *

Voldemort was noticing things. They were little things, to be sure, but they were certainly odd. The attacks on the major wizarding communities had been very successful, on the whole. However, looking at the more minute details, the whole thing was a little bit off. For example, no children had been captured. Voldemort was completely apathetic about capturing children or not capturing children. But it was such an odd coincidence that out of five major wizarding towns, there was not a single child in the raids. It made sense that at this time of year, children eleven years old and up would be in school, but for the younger children to not be home all at the same time was strange. 

There were other things too. A completely unexpected attack in the middle of the night would have yielded most of the people asleep. However, more people seemed to be awake, bustling around their houses, reading, cleaning. It was almost as if…as if they were _waiting _for the Death Eaters to come. But that wasn't possible, was it? That would mean someone had _told _them that Voldemort was coming, which was something he wouldn't allow. Who would dare defy _him, _the greatest wizard of the time!

And beyond that, there wasn't the usual air of desperation. Normally, the wizards would fight for their lives, their family's lives, or turn tail and hide. Thereused to be some who had turned on their own families, preferring to have them dead by the hands of a loved one than those of a Death Eater. Not this time. Sure, the fighting had been fierce, but the usual desperation was completely absent.

Voldemort needed to think on this. The Death Eaters had been given their assignments days before the actual attack but hadn't known even a vague time. And only his Inner Circle had received prior notice of the tentative (and in the end, resulting) date of the raid. For the people to be prepared thus…it was clearly someone in his Inner Circle who was leaking the information.

With a long sigh, he pulled a bottle of brandy from the desk drawer. Who could be doing this to him? He was so close to becoming the ruler of the wizarding world that he could almost taste it! But it wouldn't work this way. Voldemort needed to know who was a spy. And after that information was secured, he wanted to know what they were planning.

If the people knew and were ready, why hadn't they been told to run and hide?

* * *

"And this time, we won't take prisoners as slaves," Voldemort announced. From beneath his hood, his eyes glowed a bit brighter and he scanned the room cautiously. The other Death Eaters grinned evilly and nodded, looking to each other with a sort of blood lust in their eyes. Hermione and Draco exchanged glances, but there was an identical smirk shared between them that held nothing but malice. 

Voldemort scowled beneath his hood. This may be harder than he had thought. Well, he would work out a better idea and find whoever the culprit was. This could not be allowed to continue. He swallowed a frustrated growl and dismissed the meeting.

That night, in his office he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and a quill and thought as hard as he could. He wrote out a list of his Inner Circle first:

Crabbe

Dolohov

Goyle

Granger

B. Lestrange

Rabastan Lestrange

Rodolphus Lestrange

D. Malfoy

L. Malfoy

N. Malfoy

Pettigrew

Staring at the list until his vision unfocused, he finally began to cross off names. Granger was the first to go, and then Bellatrix (he had trained her as well, there was no way she would turn against him). Lucius was next, he had no motive to be helping anyone out, already owning a large fortune and in no danger of being caught (again) by the Ministry. He hesitated, then crossed out Pettigrew as well. That one didn't have the guts to turn against him. Almost a pity, he would be interesting to torture…

Voldemort shook his head of this thought and went back to the list. Narcissa, then Rodolphus came off next. Goyle was the last name he crossed off (that man had no brains and only followed Lucius and Crabbe).

Biting his lip, he looked back on his short list. Crabbe. Dolohov. Rabastan Lestrange. Draco Malfoy. He knew, in the very depths of his soul (if he had one—he was a little unclear on that), that it was one of those four that had betrayed him.

* * *

"What are you going to do while I'm gone?" Hermione asked, pulling her hair back from her face as she leaned over a book. 

"Uh…I don't know. Maybe get Potter on the mirror and tell him what's going on. He should know about this as soon as possible. How long will you be gone?" he asked her.

Hermione frowned a little bit and abandoned her book to tie her shoes. "Hm…maybe around one or so," she said. "I'll be taking the Knight Bus and be back as soon as possible. I just really need a few new spellbooks, I'm going crazy here without any new spells to learn," she said. Her smile turned apologetic as she realized what she'd said, but he waved her on.

"Okay. My mum's already changed the security so it should let you in. If you have any trouble, just…I don't know, find some way to get me."

Hermione grinned and nodded, putting on a cloak to keep out the night chill. "Will do. And please do call Harry. And be civil. And tell him I'm fine, don't scare him or anything. Give him all the details you know." As Draco nodded to each of her conditions, she eventually smiled and said, "Thanks, Draco. I'll see you tonight. Or…tomorrow morning. Whatever you want to call it."

With a final, weary smile that made him think of times when things weren't completely screwed up, she was gone. He sighed and flopped back onto the bed. For some reason, he felt guilty for getting her mixed up in this whole mess. _Since when did you have anything to do with it? _She asked silently, humorlessly. _This was going on before you came into the picture. If anyone should be guilty, it's me, _she told him.

Draco paused, realizing she was right. _I love you, _he thought quietly to her. _And I'm still sorry that we couldn't have just had a wonderful time being around each other and had to _both _get mixed up in this._

He stretched on the bed, slowly growing worried as she didn't reply back. About five minutes since he'd thought that to her, he finally felt a warm outpouring of love, occupied by the message, _I love you too._

Frowning at the pause, Draco checked the time. They usually called Potter at about 9:30, so he still had a while to wait. He pulled his book off the nightstand and began reading to pass the time. Unexpectedly, he was asleep within twenty minutes.

_Draco?_ Hermione's tentative thought brushed against his. _Is something wrong?_

_Not at all, _he thought back fuzzily as he snuggled deeper into his pillow.

_DRACO! _Her thought was a harsh scream in his mind, and he sat upright quickly. With Hermione's precognitive warning still ringing in his head, a bright light assaulted his eyes. Blinking at the onslaught, he was still groping for his wand when everything went dark.

* * *

A soft moan issued in the dark. Draco rolled over, feeling groggy, and heard someone whisper, "Who's there?" 

"Who are _you?_" a voice answered.

"Where are we?" a third voice asked in the dark.

Draco remained silent. Someone laughed bitterly and said, "Your guess is as good as mine. I think…you _know_, I think we're somewhere _dark_."

"As if we hadn't figured that out," the second voice responded just as sarcastically.

"_Why _are we here?" Draco said quietly.

"Who's there?" one of the voices said nervously. Draco was reminded of someone, but couldn't place the voice.

"No one else gave a name, why should I?" he growled.

Everyone was silent for a minute.

The voice that had spoken nervously earlier then said, "Is anyone else tied up?"

Draco frowned. That voice…where did he know it from? "Yes," one of the other voices answered. "Yeah," the last chimed agreement.

"Crabbe?" Draco asked shakily. "Is that you?"

There was a long pause. "Yeah, it's me." The tone was guarded, suspicious. "How did you know that?"

Draco shrugged in the darkness, knowing the man could not see. "Who are the other two of you?" he asked.

"You tell us who you are first," one of the voices said.

Thinking about this, Draco could see no reason not to. They were all in the dark, and likely for the same reason. Everyone had agreed to being tied up earlier, so it wasn't like they could hurt him…he hoped. "Malfoy," he said.

"Lucious? I thought I'd have recognized your voice, at least!" Crabbe exclaimed.

"It's Draco, you fucking moron," one of the other voices snarled. "I'm Rabastan."

"Lestrange?" Draco asked incredulously.

"The one and only," Rabastan replied. "Not to be confused with my brother Rodolphus, who is married to your aunt."

The silence grew expectant, and then the last voice answered, "Dolohov. Does anyone have their wand?"

"If I had my wand, do you think I'd still be tied up?" Rabastan growled sarcastically.

"Maybe if you're as stupid as you sound," Dolohov mocked.

"No less stupid than you. I noticed you don't have your wand either," Rabastan shot back.

"Says who?" Dolohov growled childishly.

"Says the fact that you were the one who asked if anyone had their wands," Rabastan snarled back.

"Hey! Stop fighting," Crabbe barked. "It's not going to help us get anywhere. Dolohov, is that you beside me?"

"Yes," came the sullen reply.

"Okay then," Crabbe continued. "I'm going to try to untie your hands. Draco and Rabastan, you two should try to do the same. Maybe once we're untied we can find a light and figure out where we are."

"Fine," Rabastan said. Draco could hear him moving in the dark. "Where are you, boy?"

"I'm here," Draco replied. "Does anyone have _any _idea why we're here? I don't recall ever doing anything with the three of you specifically."

"Do you think Voldemort will try and find us?" Dolohov asked plaintively.

No one answered. Rabastan knocked into his shoulder, setting him off balance for a moment. Draco moved until he was back to back with his uncle's brother and then began working on the ropes that held his hands together.

About a half-hour later, there wasthe soft creak of a door. A light flickered into existence, to reveal nothing but a cloaked-and-hooded figure. "Well, well, well, what have we here? Some prisoners trying to escape? That won't do," a soft, androgynous voice murmured.

The person moved their wand, and Draco was fetched up into a corner. He closed his eyes in pain and heard Crabbe, Dolohov, and Rabastan hit other walls with solid thuds. "Now, one of you is a traitor to the Death Eater name," the voice said smoothly. "I am here to find out which."

Draco was careful to look utterly confused and innocent. _Draco, what's going on? Are you okay? _Hermione asked him frantically.

Hermione. He'd forgotten about Hermione.

"Torture is my usual method for things like this," the person continued. Draco was beginning to think this was a woman, for her pacing was unusually graceful. And her voice was too smooth and calm to be a male's. In her tones was a soft lust for the hunt of finding out who was the culprit, a lust so frightening in its patience that Draco shivered.

Just as it had happened before, bright lights came on to drown out every last bit of the darkness. Draco blinked, and before he could catch his bearings, felt himself whisked away. Dark swallowed him up just as quickly as the light had before, and he was left feeling battered and confused.

"Now that you're all in separate rooms, I can get to work," the woman said. "I'll be back to torture you a little later, boys. I left my tools elsewhere. Don't run away, now," she warned. Her laughwas painfulin Draco's ears.

He thought back to Louis Frunge, who Hermione, even with very little torturing experience, had managed to torture rather thoroughly. If that was this woman's job, he was certain he could expect no mercy cut across his throat after, as Hermione had done.

_Hermione. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry._ With that, he closed his eyes (he couldn't see in such utter darkness anyway) and went to the place where her mind met his. He wasn't sure if it was possible to break a Compassion Binding. There wasn't time to find out. He had to do it, and it looked like now would be his only chance.

_I can't put you through this, love. I'll try to give you as much time as I can._ It was a terrible thing, to feel their bond almost tangiblybetween his hands and finally appreciate it fully, and know that he had to rip it apart. Piece by piece, he tore his mind apart from hers. Leaning back against the wall, he panted from the effort just that had taken him.

Mustering up the last of his strength for the final end to it, he felt a flood of alarm from Hermione as she seemed to grasp what was happening. A door opened and light stumbled into the room, making a silhouette of the woman from earlier. "Are you ready to be tortured?" she asked sweetly. Just the sight of her made him feel weak. Now or never.

With all the strength he had, he violently shoved Hermione's consciousness out of his.

* * *

Hermione leaned against the wall as her knees slowly collapsed beneath her. Something was wrong, had been wrong. She had warned Draco earlier, and then there was a light, a very bright light. No, therehad beentwo of those. Her thoughts were very mixed up. "Draco," she whispered. Her mind felt small and confining. What had happened? Why…Draco? Where was Draco? She couldn't feel him. "No," she moaned. "No." 

She looked in wonder at her hands as lightning streaked across the sky. "It's gone." The Compassion Binding. It was gone. Just like that.

"_Are you ready to be tortured?" _the words echoed back like something out of a bad dream. Hermione shivered and the world spun in a slow loop around her. Suddenly, she knew just what she had to do.

"I love you, Draco. I'll never forget you." Determinedly, she stuck out her wand hand. With a bang, the Knight Bus stopped in front of her, just as violently violet as always. "I need to go to Hogwarts," she told Stan Shunpike. "It's very urgent."

"Things often are, these days," the young man nodded as she stepped aboard.

* * *

_Spinning around and around  
Until my left was my right  
And up became down  
With just one look  
You knocked me off of my feet  
So unable to speak  
Oh how you made me weak_

—Mae, "Ready And Waiting To Fall"


	29. Chapter 28: Goodbyes

A/N: I'm trying so hard to not just rush through this ending here. Only a few more chapters left. I already have the first chapter of my next story written, and I'm going to wait (as long as I can) for this story to be finished before I post that next one.

And, also, sorry about the random spacing errors in the last chapter. I just went back and read it, and found out that a lot of words somehow got stuck together (the space between them disappeared somehow). I swear, there aren't/weren't that many typos when I typed it up and went through it on the documents part. I'll just be super careful about this chapter, I guess, but I think that's a ff. net error and not really mine…

Chapter 28: Goodbyes

Hermione stumbled up to the Hogwarts gates with her head spinning. She still scrambled in her mind for Draco's presence and found him nowhere. He couldn't possibly have cut the bond, could he? She leaned against the gates, breathing in deeply to calm herself, and something inside her snapped.

With a cool head, she assessed her situation. She was completely locked out of Hogwarts, considering she'd not given any prior notice of her entrance and there were powerful charms all over the place to keep people out. Suddenly, she smirked broadly and set off towards Hogsmeade at a quick jog. The town was desolate and broken from Voldemort's recent attack.

Hermione tried not to look at things too closely, but even that did not help. Many of the buildings were burnt and falling down. Some were lonely and abandoned. The Three Broomsticks was nothing but charred wood on barren ground. Absurdly, a chair stood in the middle of the wreckage, almost completely unharmed.

She turned her attention to Honeydukes. She nearly cried at the sight of the warm candy shop. It was not garishly burnt or broken, but it screamed wrongness at her. Only half the building was burnt, but nearly all the windows had been smashed in. A spray of blood darkened part of the once-bright paint. Shivering, Hermione slipped inside through a door that swung drunkenly on its hinges.

She threaded her way through the candy strewn over the floor. At times it crunched and crackled under her feet, and she tried not to think too deeply on it. The cellar was blessedly unharmed, and she was relieved to see it so. She clambered through the trapdoor and began to make her way to Hogwarts.

Hoping beyond hope that she wouldn't meet anyone climbing out, she crawled out through the witch statue and brushed herself off. With a quick sigh, she wandered the halls at random, hoping to run into someone.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the person she wanted to run into. "P-professor Snape," she stammered, trying to figure out what to say.

"Where have you been, my Lady?" he said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"Shut up and shut off the theatrics," she said coldly. "You are going to tell me—" suddenly she stopped. How could she be sure he wouldn't relate this all back to Voldemort? Then she realized that they were all on the same side. Almost, she laughed at herself. She had too many things going on in her mind at the moment. "Tell me where the Order is. I have important news and no time to waste."

Snape scowled. "And what exactly is this important news?"

Hermione searched for the words but only found Draco's absence. Frustration, anger, and confusion burst through her veins. "Where is the Order, Snape?" she growled at him.

Something about her expression or tone must have set him off because he paused, searching her face, and then told her where they were. Hermione stalked away without another word said.

The Order was crammed into a too-small classroom. Not even all of the members were there, but as it was they were clustered on top of tables and on benches and in the back of the room. Every eye was alert as she walked in, but then people relaxed as they recognized her for who she was. Finally she spotted Lupin sitting across from Tonks at a table, deep in conversation. "Tonks, Lupin, I have important news," she said quietly as she sat beside Remus.

The couple looked up at her. Lupin frowned. "From Harry?" he asked. "Why isn't he here himself? And where have you been, I haven't seen you since I got here about a week ago." Hermione glanced around, almost nervously and opened her mouth. What was she supposed to say? Did he not know that she was Harry's source of information? Perhaps not. For an instant, she thought she would vomit, but then she gathered herself together, just as Draco would have. There was a pang of heartbreak there, but she shoved that aside vehemently. Now was not the time.

Nor was now the time to continue telling secrets. If she was to help the Order, she had to break down all the walls that hidden information created. "Can someone go get Harry? As I said, this is important." Harry would back her up, tell everyone that she was being truthful. Before her eyes, Tonks became a young boy and hurried out of the room to do as she bid.

Lupin was still staring at her when Harry came in with Tonks. Hermione surged to her feet and was beside him quickly, pulling him out of the room before he could react. Outside the door she stood with him for a minute, looking him up and down. The war effort had taken its toll on him. He was thin and pale, with heavy circles under his eyes. "You look...weary," she told him. He gave her a half-smile and she leaned forward to cling to him tight. "Harry," she sighed sadly. The next couple of days would be harder. They didn't even have a couple of days to prepare. She had no idea how much time they had, but she knew they had to be ready as soon as possible. She had to go back to Voldemort, and at the same time, couldn't return to him. Draco was being tortured for their treachery: if he admitted that she was in on it too, there was no way she could go back.

_Only look forward,_ she told herself firmly, finally stepping out of the hug. She would have to stop letting her heart get in her way. Couldn't let it cloud her mind. Draco was as good as dead, she couldn't dwell on him now. "Draco has been captured," she informed Harry. "He is, likely, being tortured this very minute. I don't know how much time we have, but we have to attack quickly, before Voldemort can make a plan of defense." _Only look forward._ One deep breath, two. "I think I know where we can find him, so we can storm the house. I know we don't have all of the Order here with us, but if we can free the slaves they will help. We can call the rest of the Order in immediately. There's no point in being secretive now.

"Invite whatever families are left with children here to come and guard them. There are too many here whose relatives are captured, and we'll need to have some at the school still to keep them safe."

Hermione paused, taking a deep breath. She seemed disconnected from everything that was happening, whatever her mouth was saying, anything her heart was feeling. It was silly, and she cracked a grin before she sobered. "I'm sorry to get you out of bed, but I needed you to give me authority. Does anyone in there know that I am your informative? No? I didn't think so. So get in there and let me tell them and give me their trust. Then you can go back to bed," she promised.

"Draco?" he asked groggily. "Impossible."

Hermione saved her words and grabbed Harry's hand to pull him inside. They walked up to the front of the classroom together. She coughed to get everyone's attention and then dove right in. "For the longest time, all of you have been listening to Harry tell you Voldemort's plans. Well, it's time to come clean. He was getting that information from me. If any of you have heard rumors of Voldemort's daughter, that is me as well. The Dark Lady, they call me. Even now, I'm not quite sure how it all happened, but that matter is far beyond the point."

She took an instant to breathe and gather her thoughts. Incredulous shouts flourished in the room, and she heard Harry calmly put them to rest. "Thank you, Harry," she whispered to him.

"Draco Malfoy and I have been a couple for quite a while now, and when I turned to Dumbledore's side, so did he. Considering my status, we thought we were safe. But not anymore. Something happened, I'm not sure what, and Voldemort found out that someone had betrayed him. Draco was captured and is currently being tortured. He's a brave man, but not even he can withstand skilled torture." Odd, how her stomach churned at that. It was impossible to believe. She would have to cut out those emotions later. Time to grieve and mourn after it was all over. Certainly, there was no time to be feeling jittery about Draco's fate now. They knew what they had been getting into.

Another deep breath. _Only look forward._ "I realize that very few of you will be wanting to take orders from me, even with Harry's support. After all I've done, it's impossible to even believe you would trust me. But you should know that Harry does, and I hope that that, at least, will be enough to make you listen to what I have to say.

"We need the rest of the Order. I know where Voldemort is, I know the layout of his office and parts of the house he's in. We must overtake the house before it's too late, while we still have surprise on our side. Ignore being secretive, just get as many as we can here. Aurors would be nice to have too, if we can get them to come.

"Find a way to protect the students in our absence. I'd suggest calling in whatever family members that have not been taken as slaves. If I can find out where the captured slaves are, I should be able to free them and give us the advantage." Hermione paused, running over everything she's just said. "I think that's it." There was a chalkboard behind her. She waved her wand and the main points of her speech appeared upon it.

"How long will it take you to get the preparations done?" she asked the room.

Most people seemed stunned. However, they had not gotten into the Order without wits, and in a few seconds Hermione saw people beginning to calculate, turning to consult their neighbors until the room was abuzz with many separate conversations. She looked to Harry for reassurance but all she saw was an exhausted boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

In bed at last, with the sounds of Parvati and Lavender on either side of her, Hermione found herself thinking of Draco. They had been so close…so close to getting through this with both of them in one piece and together. She felt vulnerable without him in her mind, a constant rock to lean on, someone to set her emotions to rights when they threatened to overwhelm. Gone.

Though she had told herself that he was as good as dead and that there was nothing for her to do about it, Hermione secretly hoped that he was asleep in bed at Malfoy Manor. She clung desperately to the wish that he was well and whole and would do her work here, because now there was no turning back. Though she denied it even to herself, she knew that her small wish was a falsehood. She refused to disillusion herself. Not just yet. She had work to do here before she could afford to break down.

Before Hermione knew it, she was asleep, and if she had known it, she would have been grateful for the reprieve from her thoughts.

--

"Hermione's back," Harry told Ron quietly the next morning at breakfast.

"And Malfoy?" he asked.

Harry paused and checked that no one was paying attention. "She says he's been captured for torture." He took a bite of toast.

"And you don't believe her," Ron supplied.

"I don't know what to believe. She seemed as cold and hard as a rock. Like…"

"Like Malfoy used to look. Like he was locked away from everyone."

"How did you…?" Harry began to ask.

"Grief does funny things to people, Harry. Remember Hermione on the train at the beginning of this year? She had that same look in her eyes then. It looked as if she had lost everything and didn't care what the world did to her next." Harry met Ron's eyes. The redhead had never confided in him about this. He smiled sadly, "Believe her, Harry, 'cause I haven't seen her with that look since Malfoy came into her life. If she has it again…it must mean he's gone."

Harry turned back to his toast and ate it in consternation. Hermione's words from fourth year came back, "_just because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon…"_ she had said. It would seem that the war had matured Ron where everything else had failed. Harry smiled bitterly and swallowed the last of his juice.

--

Daylight streamed generously in from the window when Hermione woke. She was out of bed almost immediately and immersed herself in a cold shower as quickly as she could. There would be no time for thoughts of her Draco today, none at all if she had anything to do about it. And she would have everything to do about it.

Instead of taking her breakfast in the Great Hall, where all the students would have seen her and wondered at her return, Hermione slipped down to the kitchens, where she allowed the house elves to serve her. In truth, only Dobby would attend to her because of the whole knitting fiasco of fifth year. She ate toast and was careful not to remember when she and Draco had eaten down here and had their food war.

After that, she sought out the Order members to get down to business.

--

Draco was scared. He was more scared than he had ever been in his whole life, and that included when Hermione had trapped him in the prefect's bath, when she had slipped over the edge of the astronomy tower, when she'd been mauled by a dragon. More scared than he was when he'd seen Louis Frunge's body after Hermione had done her work, when he had been told he would become a Death Eater. The fear he felt now even surpassed the fright he'd felt when his little brother had fallen down the stairs, when he'd gone to the hospital to make sure the child would be well, when he'd died at last after they'd tried everything.

He remembered how scared he had been when he realized that he was beginning to fall in love with Hermione. That was nothing now, nothing.

Before, he had always been scared for other people, and what their deaths and pains meant to him. Now he knew the meaning of a different fear: the fear for one's own life that made all other terrors seem paltry. Draco recalled sitting in the cozzelt's den and knew it for a minor ordeal in comparison of what he was going through now.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting in the cell, but he understood that time only mattered in a distant way now. His thoughts touched briefly on Hermione and his betrayal of the Dark Lord. Draco wondered what mattered more now: his pride or the pain. Perhaps if he gave in now, the pain would stop. He shifted in the corner, careful not to make too much noise or the torturer may come back to him, recall that she'd left him here.

Pain. Fear. Thinking logically was such a chore. Why did he strive so hard to keep his treachery a secret? Better to tell her and have done with it. But no…what was the reason he kept silent? It was hard to remember now. Oh, yes, Hermione. If he admitted to working with the Order…wait, what was he thinking of? It was so hard to keep his thoughts running. Oh, right. _If I admit to working for the Order, then I will not be able to keep her involvement secret._

_So you must keep silent, Draco, _he told himself. _Don't give in._

"I won't give in," he said, so quietly that he may have just breathed and imagined words. "No. I must keep her safe."

Draco closed his eyes against the dark and tried to recall Hermione's face. He could recall dark hair, brown eyes, light freckles. The rest was hard, so hard, because he was tired, so tired, and hungry and so thirsty he thought he could drink an ocean.

The door opened, and he blinked in the brightness. "Ah, Draco. You always were my favorite. The others aren't near as fun as you. I don't know that you hold the secret any more than they do, but you're young, and your magic is still free. Remember last time, when you managed to turn my knife into a rubber chicken with your lack of restraint? Please, do give me such enjoyment again," her voice said pleasantly.

The woman sauntered across to where he crouched in the corner. She grabbed his arm and yanked him roughly around. When he refused to stand, she wrapped her arms under his and dragged him out. "No! Don't! Please, don't, just let me go," he begged.

His torturer grunted with his weight but continued to drag him along. "You do so amuse me, Mr. Malfoy," she said, and he could hear her humor.

"Please," he begged one last time.

She laughed.

--

The Order had gathered at Hogwarts more quickly than Hermione could ever have imagined. Within 24 hours of her arrival, almost all of the Order was hidden inside Hogwarts. Some parents had already come as well, with grim looks and determination. A few aurors were on their way, she'd been told.

It would seem that things were going well.

Hermione sat down and drew out the floor plan from memory. She didn't know the whole area, but she had been able to get to Voldemort's office by portkey once. So if she made several portkeys for the Order they should manage. Others would have to storm Malfoy Manor, and some would have to stay behind to worry about the boundaries.

All this had been planned in twenty-four hours. She could only pray that Draco hadn't told their secret. _Please, love, just hang in there. I don't know if you're alive or not, but we need you to keep your silence for just a few hours more._

In a few hours the war would reach its climax. Voldemort would win or lose, Harry would live or die, the world would live in terror or peace.

It was a bit much. Hermione sought out Harry and they stood for a full fifteen minutes giving each other the reassurance of arms wrapped firmly around them. "Are you ready, Harry?" she asked in his ear.

"I was born ready," Harry told her.

"Harry, everything that happened this year…" she began. Tears choked her.

"It's all forgiven if you'll forgive me and Ron as well," he told her, squeezing her a bit closer.

"Of course, Harry. Of course," she informed him through a thick throat.

They finally let go of each other. Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes and Harry did the same. "Where's Ron?" she asked. "I should tell him…" _goodbye, _she thought but could not say.

"In the dormitory. He's getting ready."

"As are we all," she said glumly as she laced her fingers through Harry's. "Let's go get him. We'll be leaving soon."

They walked through the halls, feeling the tension of the castle. Tonight, everything depended on tonight. The fat lady looked at them sympathetically and swung open without asking for a password. Together, Hermione and Harry walked through the common room and up into the boys dormitory. Ron was stretched out on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"We should go now," Harry said quietly.

Ron nodded at him. "I'm ready. Hermione. It's good to see you again. I've missed you."

"To tell you the truth, I missed you too, Ron." She let go of Harry's hand. "Come here," she said and he stood and walked into her embrace, holding her as tightly as Harry had.

"I'm so sorry about everything," she said.

"It's all forgiven," he said huskily and let her go.

Harry grabbed the Invisibility Cloak off of his bed and stuffed it into a pocket. "Let's go then. The sooner we leave the sooner this is over with."

Hermione grasped Harry's hand, then Ron's. The trio looked to each other, and all of them had tears in their eyes. "I love you guys. I know I've shown it badly this year, but…" Hermione said.

"Same," Harry and Ron said in unison.

They walked down the stairs together, Harry and Ron flanking Hermione. It seemed like all of Gryffindor was there to see them off, though technically no one was supposed to know. "This is it, then?" Seamus asked from an armchair.

The trio looked to him, and he understood. Dean said, "Good luck to you three. Come back to us safely."

Hermione gave him a watery smile. Ron answered, "We'll try."

With that promise, they left behind Gryffindor. The halls were quiet, and when they opened the door to the classroom that the Order had named their own, everything hushed. "Is that everyone, then?" Professor McGonagall said from the front of the room.

The trio looked at her and nodded.

"Well, you all have your assignments. Those who will be using portkeys, stay here. Hermione, you will be making them." Hermione approached the front of the room where items sat waiting to be made into portkeys. Harry and Ron still flanked her—they'd be taking the last one out, as none of them could Apparate.

Over half of the Order walked out. They needed to get outside of Hogwarts to Apparate. Hermione took a deep breath and began to make the portkeys, setting them to go off at three, which was in about a half hour.

--

Ginny sat curled up on Orlando's lap when he proclaimed he was leaving. "I have to go, my dear," he told her. "Please, stay in my rooms. You'll be safe here, I think. If anyone comes, there's a door in the corner of the bedroom closet that opens if you say your name. Only Dumbledore and I know about it, so you'll be safe there until I can come back."

"Orlando, I'm not staying," she told him calmly. "I know you want me to be safe and all that, and I understand it. Ron gave me very much the same talk not too long ago. But if you think for one instant that I'm going to let everyone leave me behind with the words _be safe, _then you're completely out of your mind. I can't let my brother, my best friends, almost all my family, and you go off and leave me here. I won't, Orlando. Not anymore. I know I'm young, but I was a fourth year when we went to the Department of Mysteries, and I did just fine then. I was a first year when Voldemort almost killed me. I'm not staying behind now," she told him.

Ginny stood and so did Orlando. By the look on his face, he was about to argue the matter. She spoke first, "Don't try. It won't work. Nothing you can say will make me stay."

"But Gin," he pleaded, "I…" Orlando paused. He didn't meet her eyes and blinked rapidly before he finally looked at her again. "Ginevra, I love you, and I won't be able to bear it if you die."

"Orlando." On such a grim night, with his admission she could not help but smile sweetly as she said, "I love you too. _I_ won't be able to bear it if _you_ die. So don't leave me behind here. I'd rather have you die by my side fighting Voldemort than have you die far away and me unable to stop it. So don't leave me here. I'm coming."

"Okay," he gave in at last, and when he kissed her she felt his tears on her cheeks.

--

_I disconnect my heart, my head,_

_Don't want to recognize when things go bad_

—Jack's Mannequin, "I'm Ready"


	30. Chapter 29: Walking Away

A/N: This will be my last chapter **and then there will be an epilogue.** So tune in for that.

Chapter 29: Walking Away

Ginny and Orlando came into the room at a quarter till three. "We haven't missed the party yet, have we?" the youngest Weasley asked cheerfully.

Ron stood up, his hands in fists. "What are you doing here?" he asked her. "I told you to stay in the common room!"

She looked over at him coolly. "I talked about it with Orlando, and I'm coming. I know that you don't want me there, but I'm not going to stay behind when my family and best friends and Orlando are going. Besides, I have a score to settle with Voldemort."

"Yes, you _are_ staying! I'm not going to let—" Hermione stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Ron, none of us want her to get hurt, but she's old enough to be making her own decisions now. If you forget, she was with us at the Department of Mysteries last year. She's earned her way here." He turned to her furiously, and she looked at him with sad eyes. "Ron, look at her. She's not a child. She's made up her mind. So give her your support. You too, Harry," she said, nudging the boy with her foot. He looked as frustrated as Ron, but nodded.

Ron walked over to his little sister and crushed her in a hug. "If you get hurt, I'll kill you," he told her, only half-joking.

"I'm afraid you may have to work hard to keep that promise," she teased, but there was fear in her eyes. They all knew what they were up against.

"Five minutes until the portkeys go," Hermione announced.

Everyone fell into a fidgety silence. "One minute," she declared. Everyone stood and approached the desk, falling into their designated groups of five or six. "Thirty seconds…" Hermione looked up to meet Harry's brilliant green eyes, then moved on to the blue of the Weasleys, lastly meeting Orlando's eyes. "Ten seconds." She added, quietly so only the four who surrounded her could hear, "Good luck, and I love you guys." _This is it._ "Five. Four. Three. Two. One…"

There was a familiar jerk behind her navel and the classroom dissolved from her view.

Voldemort's office, which replaced it, was empty. She called the Order members to the center and told them directions in which to go. Outside the door, three groups went one way, and three another. Their orders were to search the house, and if they found no one they would meet at the Manor to assist there.

Hermione's group of five took the left corridor. They went up the stairs with a second group, leaving one downstairs to finish up with the left corridor. She led the way down the left hallway again. The five of them were alone. They opened doors as they went, checking that the insides were clear.

Ginny opened the third door while Orlando peered inside. He snapped his fingers and Hermione, Harry, and Ron went to him. Hermione looked in, then motioned that Ron should stay outside with his sister and Orlando. She and Harry slipped into the room like ghosts and took Pettigrew's wand before he even woke up. "Wormtail, you git, wake up."

The rat-like man snapped awake. "Why, my Lady, how are you? I have not seen you around recently."

"I've brought Potter. Where is my father?" she asked. Harry looked at her, horrified.

"At the Manor, talking with the Malfoys. May I…?"

"No, Wormtail. You may not ask me anything. I'll be back. _Petrificus Totalus!_" Once he was immobile, she slipped her wand and his into her pocket and roughly pushed Harry out into the hall.

"Okay, this is good. Pettigrew is an idiot. He'll spill any information to me that I'll need. All of you should head over to the Manor. That's where you'll be needed. I'll deal with Wormtail here. He may know where the slaves are, and…" a lump in her throat prevented her from speaking the last. _Draco…_

"Hermione, I thought…" Harry began.

"Look, Harry," she hissed. "I have Wormtail wrapped around my finger, and it'll look suspicious if I keep you around and actually _listen _to you. As of yet, he doesn't seem to realize that we're attacking. I can handle him, but we are all counting on you to deal with Voldemort, so _go._ Go. I'll do what I can here and come when I can.

"But Hermione…" his eyes were filling with tears.

"Damn it, Harry, nothing will happen to me. They practically worship me! Go!" She pulled him to her and kissed his cheek, then grabbed Ron and did the same. "Both of you. Keep him safe, Ron," she implored. Then Hermione turned to Orlando and Ginny. "And you two. All of you, keep Harry safe. Now _go._"

Ginny took her brother's hand and led him away while Orlando put his arm around Harry's shoulder and took him back downstairs. It was hard not to wonder if this was the last time she would see them. Hermione took a deep breath and reentered Wormtail's room.

Turning on the lights, she took off her body-bind. "Hello, Peter. Nice to see you again." She twirled his wand in her fingers.

"My Lady, what are you doing?" he asked stupidly.

"I've just sent Potter off with one of my trusted Death Eaters. Lord Voldemort should be seeing him soon. Hopefully he'll be dead before dawn. That would be good. However, Pettigrew, I have come to question your loyalty in all of this."

"But…but…I have been completely loyal, always. Never told anyone anything. You have no proof!" he exclaimed.

Hermione arched her eyebrows high. "Completely loyal? To whom? Maybe my father, but I cannot recall a single time that you have been loyal to me."

"You are just his daughter! There was no need…"

"It was you who captured Malfoy for torture, wasn't it?" she said quietly. He whimpered, and that was all the admission she needed. "And all the while you could have told me and I would have given him to you. It would have been effortless. So why did you not tell me?"

She began to pace the room. "Is it possible that you did not trust me to give him to you?" She clicked her tongue admonishingly. "Do not be deceived, Pettigrew. Just because I have a boy to use as my tool does not mean that I wouldn't be completely willing to give him up."

Wormtail had had it. He finally changed into the rat he was and scurried off the bed. She murmured a spell, and the floor was covered in mousetraps. Hermione heard one snap, then a second, and Peter Pettigrew was human again, howling on the floor as other traps went off. She kicked some out of her way to get closer to him. "You didn't honestly believe I'd let you get away? I recall the last time you pulled that trick, and have been prepared for it ever since."

"Please, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I did not mean to anger Your Grace, I did not mean it. He told me not to tell, he told me, I wasn't supposed to tell anyone."

Hermione kicked him. It was his fault that Draco wasn't with her. "Get off the floor, you're pathetic." She muttered a counter-spell and the mousetraps were gone. "I have a way you can pay me back for your disloyalty," she said.

"Anything, my Lady, anything," he whimpered.

"All I need is a bit of information that has been conveniently withheld from me. "Where is my pet being tortured?"

"Please, please, I don't—"

"You _do _know, Pettigrew," she snapped, kicking him again. "And I thought I told you to get up."

"They're somewhere in the Manor, in the dungeons somewhere, even I don't know for sure," he wheezed, pulling himself onto his hands and knees.

"You see, Pettigrew, that wasn't very hard. Now I have one last question for you. Where are the slaves?"

"Slaves?" She heard him lick his lips. "What—"

"Bloody hell, you _imbecile_. Tell me where they put the fucking slaves!" she yelled.

"Under the drawing room is a chamber. There's a trapdoor somewhere in there, leading to a passageway. The slaves are somewhere in there. We haven't had time to distribute them amongst the Death Eaters yet, so—"

"_Stupefy_."

The man fell silent and dropped to the floor. She pushed him under the bed so he wouldn't be found immediately.

Hermione hastened down the halls, but did not hear anything of the Order members. She wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but she didn't have time to find out and bolted out of the house, dashing toward the Manor.

The front door was open slightly, and she pushed through. She understood, now, why Order members were to travel in groups: if a Death Eater came upon her now, she would be quickly disposed of.

Except…hopefully they would not yet know of her involvement with the Order. _They practically worship me,_ she had told Harry; then it had just been something she said to get him to listen to her and go, but now it was the only thing she had to protect her.

"Please don't prove me wrong," she whispered.

Hermione could hear the sounds of battle coming from the right wing of the house. But her footsteps carried her away from the battle, to the drawing room. She wanted to run to the dungeons and find Draco, but winning the war was the first priority. Besides, she didn't know how to get to the dungeons.

--

The battle was already going when Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Orlando entered Malfoy Manor. They stepped over a few bodies out in the hall, and followed the sounds of fighting into the ballroom. Ginny stopped while her mind reeled with what she saw. The Order was losing. Voldemort stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by about ten Death Eaters, while there were one or two more of them for every member of the Order.

The sight of Voldemort brought back things that Ginny would rather have forgotten. She ground her teeth together and backed up to Orlando. A few of the Death Eaters had noticed them by now and were approaching. A stunning spell went over her head as she ducked. "_Protego!_" the next jinx bounced off her shield and she cast a Bat-Bogey Hex at the offending Death Eater.

Her robes caught fire, and she cast another shield charm while dropping the burning clothes to the floor. There was no time to put out the flames. She dodged another spell, shooting off a charm. A jet of light missed her, but barely. _"Accio chair!_" she shouted, and the chair slammed into the back of a Death Eater. "_Stupefy!_" she screamed next, making sure he wouldn't get up.

The next thing she knew, she was in the greatest pain she had ever known. It felt like her bones were being cooked, and her head was going to split, and she could hear herself screaming and _screaming._ When it was over, she panted and barely managed to cast a shield charm that pushed the next spell away. The pain came again, this time cut off abruptly. Orlando crouched by her and jerked her to her feet before his body snapped together rigidly and he fell to the floor.

"_Stupefy!_" she screamed at the Death Eater, sure that her skull would shatter with the noise. She reversed the body-bind and dodged another spell. Her Bat-Bogey Hex missed completely, but the Conjunctivitis Curse she cast next hit someone. Ginny had a Tarantallegra Curse put on her and fell to the floor, where her legs continued to move uncontrollably.

"_Densaugeo_!" Her left wrist ached dully from falling, but she managed to hit someone with the charm. She undid the curse on her legs and stood up shakily, almost laughing as she saw her victim shambling around with teeth as large as a person's hand.

Her amusement faded when someone hit her with a jelly-legs jinx. Ginny wobbled uncertainly, whispering "_Protego!"_ before she could be hit by another one. She fell to the floor and shot off "_Furnunculus_!" at someone before removing the jinx.

It was then that she realized that Harry was not with her. She stood and turned to look around the room, only finding herself face to face with a Death Eater. "Why hello there," a female voice said, then adding, "_Stupefy!_" Amazingly, Ginny managed to duck this and backed away into a corner. The Death Eater seemed amused and proceeded to shoot spells at her legs.

_She's playing with me, _Ginny realized with a sinking feeling. She danced around on the balls of her feet, never landing anywhere for more than a second. "I'm getting bored with this," the woman said, raising her wand up to finish it. Ginny pushed off the wall and smashed her fist into the Death Eater's face. Where her wrist had ached, she heard it crack and the pain was intensified. "_Stupefy!"_ she yelled, pointing her wand at the Death Eater's heart. She went still, and Ginny looked around for Harry. There was an open door near her.

She got up and went through. Harry may have been the one that was supposed to kill Voldemort, but Voldemort had hurt her, and she would not let her friend do the task alone if there was some way she could help.

--

"Well, if it isn't Potter. The Boy Who Lived. You'll be lucky to see dawn," Voldemort taunted.

Harry sneered at him but the only thing he said was, "_Expelliarmus!_"

His spell vanished before ever hitting. "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" Voldemort shook his head under his hood. "Bellatrix, would you like to deal with the boy?"

"It would be an honor," she said, stepping up. Voldemort leaned casually against the wall. "_Crucio!_" Bellatrix said before Harry could even think.

Reflexively, he dodged the spell and forgot about Voldemort. It was all about Bellatrix now. "_Incendio!_" the spell managed to catch her by surprise: her hair lit on fire.

"_Imperio!_" she screamed at him before pausing to put out her hair. Harry threw off the curse before she was finished and yelled, "_Stupefy!_"

The amazed look on her face as she fell was priceless. Harry was panting when he turned to Voldemort. "Well, I suppose the saying is true: if you want something done right you have to do it yourself. _Crucio._"

Harry dodged it, but had no chance to cast a spell before the next one came, or the next. "_Expell…Expelli…_" he panted out, but he couldn't finish the spell.

"_Crucio._" This one hit Harry, and he went down screaming. The spell ended suddenly, and Harry panted on the floor feeling as if his lungs had exploded. He pushed himself up as quickly as he could to see what was happening. Voldemort lay on the floor where he'd been knocked over, and Ron straddled him, pounding his face with his fists.

Harry gathered his wand as Voldemort finally screamed, "_Relashio!_" Ron was hurtled against the wall with the force of the spell, landing with a sickening crack. "Ron!" he yelled, taking a step towards him.

"_Rictusempra!_" someone cried from the doorway, and then in quick succession, "_Tarantallegra!"_

Voldemort doubled over, laughing, while his legs danced uncontrollably. "Ron!" he heard the other person shout, running across the room. Another Weasley then, judging by the hair.

"_Crucio!_" Voldemort shrieked, not at him, but at Ginny. She fell to the floor, screaming and Harry took his chance. _For Ron, and Ginny, and Hermione, wherever she is._ "_Avada Kedavra!"_ he shouted, putting all his feelings behind it. _For my parents, and Sirius. _"_Avada Kedavra!_" he said again, with more determination. Voldemort's laughter still rang in his ears. _For Dumbledore._ "_Avada Kedavra!_"

But Voldemort laughed on. Harry was disgusted and disappointed with himself, but he didn't have time to think on it. "_Stupefy!_" he shouted at last, finally silencing the man.

People ran in, shouting. Order members or regular people, he did not know, but they were not dressed as Death Eaters. So Hermione had succeeded in finding the slaves. They silenced when they saw Voldemort's still form.

This was his last chance to do it. In front of all these people, he could not fail. He thought of everything he had been put through by this vile man, and wanted him dead, wanted him dead so badly that it actually hurt. Harry approached the man who had ruined his life by killing everything precious to him. "_Avada Kedavra._"

Voldemort's limbs, which had been rigid with the stunning spell, went lax. His chest no longer rose or fell. The pain in Harry's scar was gone, though he hadn't even realized it was there.

A sob echoed through the room, and Harry turned quickly. Ginny was crying. Feeling awash with foreboding, Harry walked to her side. Ron's body was already showing bruising along the right side, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Harry reached out a hand to touch him, but then someone jerked it away.

"_Don't touch him,_" Hermione hissed. "You may just make it worse. We need to get him to St. Mungo's. Now!" One of the Order hurried up and used Side-Along Apparition to take him out. Hermione stood, and rubbed her face with her hands.

"I see you found everyone," Harry said.

Hermione looked down at him with pain in her eyes. "Everyone but him," she said hoarsely.

"Let's go, then." Harry stood up, but then his knees buckled and he fell to the floor. Suddenly all his aches and pains came to him, and it was too much to even walk. He had fought hard to reach Voldemort.

"It's okay, Harry. I think this is something I should do by myself."

Looking up at her, he noticed how weary she looked. _How long has it been since she slept?_ He wondered. Harry nodded her on, but grabbed her hand and squeezed it for an instant.

--

Hermione walked away from them all. She left Malfoy Manor behind and walked back to the house on the far end of the property. Wormtail was exactly where she'd left him. "_Ennervate,_" she muttered after pushing him out from under the bed.

"My Lady, what…what happened?"

"I need your help, Pettigrew. Do you know how to get to the dungeons of Malfoy Manor?"

"Of course, but—"

"Take me there."

"But—"

"Wormtail, I'm not in a good mood. Don't make me use my wand," she threatened.

"All right."

And so Peter led her. He took her across the lawns and through the door to Malfoy Manor. He led her up the main staircase and into a study, then pulled open a trapdoor. "There, my Lady. Might I ask—"

"Do you know exactly where Malfoy is?" He shook his head, and she had no more use for him. "Oh, right, Pettigrew, I forgot to tell you…Voldemort is dead. _Stupefy._" She looked at his still form. "Peter, you can wait here for me until I come back, then I will turn you in and clear Sirius's name, and you will be locked away once and for all."

Hermione walked down steep steps into a dank hallway. "_Lumos._" She walked a long hallway until it split, then listened hard. There was no sound, from either way. Deciding that left turns had led her well that day, she took the left corridor. Off this, there were several branching hallways. "I'll never find him this way," she muttered.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" she said loudly. There was no sound. She wandered down the broad hall, occasionally calling out again. At last, there was muffled shouting.

"Hello?" Hermione turned down the hallway and came face-to-face with a Death Eater.

"Why hello there," said a soft ambiguous voice. "Who, may I ask, are you?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "Your Lady, that's who. And who the bloody hell are you?"

The Death Eater knelt before her. "My Lady, I am sorry, I did not recognize you."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Alecto, my Lady."

"Indeed. Where is Malfoy?"

The Death Eater looked up at her. "You only want Malfoy?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "How many others are down here?" she asked.

"Well, there's Crabbe, Lestrange, Dolohov, and then the Malfoy boy, who I must say is the most interesting of all to torture. I apologize to inform you, but I still do not know who betrayed us. I think it may have been—"

"Show me where they are," Hermione snapped, cutting her off.

"Yes, Lady."

Hermione was first led to Crabbe. "_Flagrate,_" she said, marking the door with an X. "Lead on," she told Alecto. She was then led to Dolohov, then Lestrange, and last Draco. She marked an X on each cell door, then had Alecto open Draco's door, taking care to notice how it was done. "And their wands?" she asked afterward.

The witch shrugged. "I was only entrusted with torturing them, not their wands."

"Okay. _Stupefy_."

Alecto dropped, and Hermione walked over to her Draco.

--

Hermione had finally managed to get to sleep when there was a splintering noise and the door crashed in. "What now?" she said groggily, sitting up in bed.

"By order of the Ministry, you are under arrest."

"For what?" she asked, alarmed.

"For the murder of Albus Dumbledore."

_Well, if this isn't the icing on the cake, _she thought as she allowed them to put her in anti-Disapparation handcuffs.

--

Harry came to visit her in Azkaban, which Hermione thought was very kind of him. "I'm sorry that all of this had to happen. I will testify in court that Dumbledore told you it was okay to kill him, but I'm afraid there's nothing more I can do. It's up to the jury, and to tell you the truth, they all loved the man."

"I killed him," Hermione whispered. "He was...great. And I killed him. I can't believe it. At the time, everything was going on and there wasn't time to think about any of it, but now...now I can't forget it, it keeps happening in my head. Thank Merlin there aren't any dementors here, or I'd be crazy by now. How could I have done it?"

Harry looked uncomfortable, then said, "By the way, what do you know about a letter?"

"Letter?"

"Dumbledore's portrait was so distraught yesterday that McGonagall called me in to talk to him, and he asked why you hadn't read the letter from him yet."

Hermione remembered the dark office, with the pensieve shining on the desk. Dipping the narrow brush in… "I remember the letter," she said quietly.

"Where is it? I'll bring it to you. Dumbledore has been adamant that you read it, so it must be something important."

"Oh, it's…you know, I'm not sure. I think it's somewhere in my trunk. Feel free to go through my things. I can't believe I killed him and then forgot to read his letter. He probably cursed me in it anyway." Hermione frowned and leaned back against the wall of her cell. "Hey, Harry? How's Ron?"

"He's still…well, it's still bad. But the healers say that he may be completely better…in about a year. Maybe less, if he does well," Harry said quietly. Ron had received brain damage when Voldemort threw him against the wall, and though he could still speak, he couldn't see out of one of his eyes and frequently denied that there was a problem. "They say he may never get his sight back, but his brain will heal."

"Ron always seems to have brain problems," Hermione said in jest, recalling the Department of Mysteries.

Harry gave her a crooked smile.

"And what of Draco?" she whispered.

"Draco will be out tomorrow, they say. He has been talking about wanting to visit you for days but they wouldn't let him out."

Hermione smiled. "Did he threaten them?"

Harry couldn't help but return her grin. "He sure did. They wanted to keep him another week at least."

"That's Draco for you." Hermione was silent for a while, and then the words came out in a rush, "Harry? I'm sorry I couldn't come to Lupin's funeral. Or Charlie's. Remember when he brought that dragon to class? That was fun, right? And Molly. She was a good woman, and she saved Orlando in the end, didn't she? Mad-Eye wasn't so bad either, when he wasn't secretly Barty Crouch. It's too bad he never really got to teach us anything and can't now. Tonks will get better, won't she? She can't die too. Oh, I can't bear being in here and not having any way to talk to them or pay my respects. At least the dementors are gone, but I need to get out of here, Harry."

"I know, Hermione. I know. I'll get you out so you can see Tonks and Ron and Malfoy. We can go together to pay our respects to Mad-Eye and Molly and Charlie and Lupin, I promise. I don't know how I will, but I won't leave you here. I'll find that letter for you."

"I love you, Harry. So much. Just like him. I loved him too. How couldI have killed him? I don't understand now. His blood was so red, Harry. I don't think you'll ever see blood that red, and it was all over. It just wouldn't stop..."

"I love you too, Hermione. Just hang in there."

With that, he left, and she was so distraught she barely noticed how shaken he looked.

--

Apparently the Ministry had searched Voldemort's office and had found in a drawer a letter, telling Hermione that she was to kill Dumbledore. After checking with a professor—who preferred to remain anonymous—at Hogwarts, the Ministry had decided that they had enough evidence to incarcerate Hermione.

Dumbledore's letter was eventually what made the Ministry set Hermione free. In it, besides a letter to her, he had written that he had persuaded her to kill him against her will. Along with Harry's testimony that this was so, and his accounting of everything she had done for the Order and after he pointed out that she was an excellent student and unlikely to ever have another crime to her name, they had been forced to give her a pardon for Dumbledore's murder. Of course, it helped that it was _the _Harry Potter saying this, the Boy Who Lived, and the Defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and several other long-winded titles that Harry despised.

The day she got out, Hermione went with Harry to visit the graves of those who had died during the battle. She cried out everything she had for them, and left roses on each grave. Then they visited Ron in the hospital, who was getting better, or so she was told. If she hadn't already cried out everything, she would have cried over his deplorable state. Tonks they visited next, and she was not so bad. When they were there, she was suffering from an abnormally high fever. The right side of her body was mangled horribly, where the flesh had been turned inside out and then burnt, making a full recovery impossible. But she had been coherent, and had bet that once she was out of St. Mungo's she could make the scars turn color.

Harry left to go home with the Weasleys, but Hermione went back to Hogwarts, though the term was a mere few days from being over. She spent a single night with Draco in the Room of Requirement, curled up in his arms and sleeping more deeply than she had in months.

The next morning she woke up and slipped from Draco's grasp, only pausing to dress and put on her too-long cloak before going for a chilly walk around the lake. When she turned around, Draco was standing outside of the big Hogwarts doors, looking like he knew what was coming.

Hermione approached him slowly, trying to savor this last walk. "Draco, I—"

She stopped, unable to say what needed to be said, and looked him over. His face was still gaunt from his torture session, and she could see a welt on his neck from a wayward whiplash. Hermione tried not to remember the marks she had seen all over his body, tried to forget the ragged state she had found him in.

Try as she might, she could not forget.

"Draco, I have to go away. Everything…all this, is just too painful. I can't stand to see everyone hurt, every day. And there are so many who are dead. I can't deal with it," she said. "I can't deal with you. You look at me, and you love me so much, but I look at you and see my failure. I look at you and you remind me of everything that I've done, everything awful that I couldn't stop. I look at you and I see…" she choked on her words. _Dumbledore..._

"You see everything you don't want to," he said for her. Hermione looked up at him, meeting his grey eyes. She saw blessed understanding.

"I can't come back to this," she said.

"Okay," Draco whispered. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead, then let her go.

Hermione gripped her wand and looked back at Draco one last time, then turned around and walked away from everything.

--

Pansy came out from behind a tree. Draco wasn't surprised to see her there, she had always loved mornings on the lake. He'd even seen her slip behind the tree when Hermione had neared.

"So it's all over now, huh?" she asked. Pansy put her arm on his shoulder and leaned on it.

Draco laughed softly. "With her, it's never over."

"Aren't you worried that she won't come back?" Pansy asked, honestly confused.

"She'll come back," he told her.

"Oh, yeah? And what if she doesn't?"

"She will."

"Well, you're one self-assured bastard," Pansy told him affectionately. Together, they watched Hermione's form disappear into the distance. "Breakfast?" she offered perkily.

Draco smiled. "Breakfast sounds great." They turned and went inside.

--

_I'd rather run the other way than stay and see_

_The smoke and who's still standing when it clears_

—The Fray, "Over My Head (Cable Car)"

--

**THERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE.** It should be up within a couple of days.


	31. Epilogue

A/N: I had a lot of fun with this story, and would like to thank all of you readers who kept up with it. I know that sometimes it was pretty rough when I didn't post for months on end, and I apologize for that. This is the end of this story, but as mentioned in…chapter 28, I believe, I have another one all ready to be put up (if not already up). So please, keep an eye out for that.

Epilogue

Draco sipped at his coffee and stared out over the lush grounds surrounding Malfoy Manor. After his mother had died in the war, his father had given the manor over to Draco and moved out to the cottage where Voldemort had formerly been in residence. He visited often, as would be expected, and would occasionally ask about Hermione.

But this morning Draco had other visitors. "I just wanted to thank you again for coming to our wedding," Ginny told him while she poured herself a cup of tea.

"It meant a lot," Orlando agreed. He served himself some eggs and sat back in the chair.

Draco smirked at them over his coffee. "Someone had to make sure Ron didn't do something stupid, you know how the twins like to taunt him about his vision, and since Hermione couldn't be there…"

They all fell into silence. Draco picked up a piece of toast and slathered honey on it, then covered it with scrambled eggs. Ginny looked at him with a wrinkled nose, and he remembered Hermione's reaction to the breakfast. He gave himself a quiet smile and ate it in four bites, leaving the redhead gaping at him.

"Draco, maybe it's time to…" Orlando began, but then was cut off by his wife.

"Orlando!" Ginny gasped in shock. "You shouldn't be so blunt about things like…"

But Draco just laughed. Once he'd started, he found he couldn't stop. "Draco, are you okay?" Ginny asked, putting a calming hand on his shoulder.

In truth, he wasn't okay. Over the last week he'd dreamt of Hermione every night, and in all of them she was either saying goodbye or dying. He had been so sure that she would come back to him, but it had been two, almost three, years and there hadn't been any sign of her. Not even a note. Last night he hadn't slept at all, both because he was incredibly restless and because he didn't want to see her again.

Once Draco managed to stop laughing he sat back and drank his coffee, then looked down at the bottom of the cup in consternation. "Orlando, I'm not giving up on her. She'll come back to me, and with _this_ house…" he waved his arm to indicate the whole manor. "She knows where to find me."

"But Draco," Ginny began gently.

He turned and looked her full in the face. Her blue eyes noted his lack of sleep, the thinness of his face, even his hair, which wasn't untidy but had lost its luster. "She will come back," he told the redhead firmly and stifled his own doubts. She would.

"Okay, Draco," she said, and he thought she may actually have believed him. That made one of them.

"So, Draco, going to the Quidditch World Cup this year?" Orlando said, tactfully changing the topic.

"Probably. Isn't your brother going to be playing?"

"Yep!" Orlando said proudly. "Can't believe it, my own little brother playing in the World Cup. He always was a good keeper, you know."

Draco smiled and nodded at him, but didn't hear the rest of the conversation. He was thinking of Hermione and that sorrowful look in her eyes when she'd walked away. _She _will _come back. Just be patient, Draco_, he told himself.

Ginny and Orlando left after lunch, warning him not to be too reclusive. Not much chance of that. For every week that she was gone, he had bought another book and read it, both to distract himself from her absence and to increase the size of his library for her return. He hadn't managed to finish his book for the week yet and this was his last day to do so.

After they left, Draco lit a small fire in the study and picked up the book. It was thick, and he didn't find it particularly appealing but was sure Hermione would be fascinated with it. It talked all about spell theory and described in great detail how some of the more uncommon spells had been made. It had its interesting moments, to be sure, but mostly he found it dull.

Draco finished the book and then went to the library to place it carefully on the shelf. Then he walked around his house, to remind himself of her. He did this almost every night, to remember how wonderful she was and all their good times. Draco refused to forget. He had a feeling that if he forgot then she would never come back.

First stop was the kitchens, where she'd made a face at his coffee. Fenens had complimented her, he remembered. Smiling, he traveled through to the ballroom. The first time he'd seen her as more than the mudblood was here. She had looked so confident walking in, with her bright dress and snappy eyes. Up on the second floor he paused where she had wobbled in front of a portrait, looking for more than layers of paint. He traveled through the study, the library, into her room. He touched the dresses in her closet. They still smelled like her. Everything she had left behind at Hogwarts was now in the room, waiting for her just as he had.

With a final, satisfied sigh Draco traveled back to his room in the tower. The only place that he never visited for a Hermione memory was the dungeons. There were too many bad memories there. Draco looked over the edge of his window, just to see the minute, three-inch ledge where he'd left Hermione so he could snip a few roses from the garden.

_The garden_… Draco had an urge to go down there. He had never managed to show it to Hermione, though he'd wanted to since the first ball. There would be no memories for him there. Frowning, he decided to go down there anyway. It would be better to sit back in his garden and look at his plants than dream of her face. Or not dream at all, if he was as restless as he had been last night. In truth, he didn't know which was worse.

He padded through his halls barefoot and entered the garden through the drawing room. Torched by moonlight, the flowers fairly glowed. Draco smiled quietly. His garden always radiated peacefulness, something he desperately needed now. The gravel path hurt his feet but he really didn't care. He paused to smell some of his roses.

When he looked up, there she was. Draco didn't know if she'd been sitting there this whole time or if she had just ghosted in now, silent as a breeze, but when she saw him looking at her she stood from the stone bench. His black roses behind her looked silver in the moonlight. "Hermione," he breathed; he didn't say it any louder for fear she might dissolve before his eyes. "I must be dreaming."

Hermione simply stood and looked him up and down. She was wearing jeans and a tank top beneath a worn, too-long cloak. Against his will, Draco's eyes filled with tears. "Don't tell me goodbye again," he croaked.

Her brown gaze met his and she stepped toward him carefully. He closed his eyes, unable to bear it. "There now, Draco," she said quietly, wiping his tears from his cheeks. "It's all right. I'm…back."

He reached out blindly and grabbed her body, clasping her close to him. She was just how he remembered, even her tears hot on his neck. "I'm back," she repeated.

"I waited for you," he sobbed into her shoulder, but now he didn't know if he was crying because he was happy or because he was scared she would just say goodbye.

"I know, love, I know. I'm sorry for making you wait so long."

Draco forced himself back under control, and when he was finally able to breathe normally he said, "Don't ever leave me. Please."

"Of course not, love. Of course not." Her voice was soothing and he finally looked up from her shoulder. She smiled sweetly at him, sadly, brushing her thumbs across his cheeks to get rid of the tears. He kissed her tenderly, still not sure that she was real.

--

Hermione yawned and stretched. She hadn't slept well since she'd made the decision to come back to what she'd left, but last night she'd slept deeply. Draco stirred next to her and she stopped moving to let him sleep. His body was warm against hers as he pulled her closer. "I love you, Hermione," he mumbled.

"Oh, Draco," she whispered gently. He opened an eye to look at her and she rolled onto her side so they were lying nose-to-nose. With a worried expression he opened his other eye and stared at her. "I love you too," she said when she was sure she had his full attention.

He pulled her close and kissed her, then rolled away and picked up a small square box from the nightstand. "This isn't exactly how I imagined giving this to you," he told her. "I mean, in _most _of my imaginings we were both clothed and whatnot…" Draco paused, giving her a particularly devilish look. She giggled. "Well, and me actually kneeling as is traditional. However…" He sat up in bed, leaving her reclined against the pillows, and popped open the box. "Hermione, will you marry me?"

She smiled at him and closed her eyes for a second, savoring the moment. Eyes still closed, she nodded against the pillow. "Yes, Draco. I'll marry you." She opened her eyes at last and sat up to look in the box. Inside was a beautiful gold ring, with several small diamonds perched in the middle of it in the shape of a heart. "But this—"

Draco smirked wide. "I _knew _you would go through the whole box. Did you actually read the papers in it?" She shook her head no. "Ah, well, your loss. Yes, this is the ring Lucius gave my mother for their engagement. They passed it on to me to give to the woman I would marry." His eyes locked with hers as he pulled out the ring and placed it on her finger.

"Don't worry, Draco, I won't leave again," she reassured him, laying back down against the pillows and admiring the ring.

"I know, Hermione." He fidgeted and crossed his legs under him. "I'm just so worried about losing you. Last time…you only stayed one night," he whispered, pained. "_One night. _Narcissa was killed in the war, Hermione. I never got to tell you, because the first time I saw you, it was so you could tell me goodbye." Tears were filling his eyes again, and he was furious about that. "So if you're going to leave me again, keep that bloody ring on your finger and promise me you'll come back in less than three years."

The tears fell, and he hated that he was crying so much the first time she saw him in almost three years. "Draco, Draco," Hermione was saying, but all he could do was hold his head in his hands and let his shoulders shake.

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder and pulled his away from his face with the other. She dried his tears with her hands, as she had last night. "Draco," she said again, more softly. He closed his eyes and would not look at her. "Draco, look at me." He did. "I…Damn it, Draco, the only thing more terrifying than telling you goodbye was deciding to come back. I'm sorry to have left you waiting. I'm so sorry, sorrier than words could ever convey. And you have a right to be mad at me. I'd be mad too."

He closed his eyes on her again and she sat up and wrapped her body around his. "But you held on, Draco. You held on to me, and waited for me, and here I am, even though I thought I'd never come back to this. And I love you. Last night you asked me not to leave you, and I said that I wouldn't and I meant it. _I meant it,_" she told him forcefully. He opened his eyes and she saw the hurt in them. "I won't be leaving you again, Draco."

"No more goodbyes?" he asked hoarsely.

He sounded so much like a child in that question that Hermione nearly cried. Instead she smiled broadly at him and shook her head. "No more goodbyes, Draco. I promise."

To seal her promise, she kissed him. He kissed her back ardently, pushing her back onto the bed…

--

Draco's eyes fluttered closed despite himself. Hermione's voice continued with the story. It was pleasantly warm in the library where they sat, Hermione stretched out before the fire, and Draco curled up on a loveseat. _She's here for good this time, _he reminded himself. Since she'd arrived he'd had a hard time keeping his eyes off of her, and when she read to him like this he hardly ever stood up the opportunity to stare at her. Hermione was beautiful in any lighting, but especially so in firelight, he had decided.

Her voice changed with another character, and Draco smiled at her. She always got really into her reading, and after living with her for over a month he still loved to hear it.

There was an abrupt _pop_ as a house elf came in. In Hermione's absence he had freed all of the elves except five, who had loved him enough to take the despised monthly wages. They were hard pressed to clean the whole house, and Draco was seriously considering talking to McGonagall about getting back Dobby. Even thinking about the look of gratitude and love Hermione had given him when he told her about the reduced—and payed—house elf staff made him feel warm.

"Miss Hermione, Miss," Fenens said excitedly. "Miss Ginny and Mister Orlando are here with Mister Ron and Mister Harry. They wait for the lovely miss in the parlor."

"Oh! Thanks for the message, Fenens. It would be wonderful if you could prepare tea and cakes and bring them out to us."

"Fenens will be making tea and bringing cakes right away, Miss!" he said, vanishing with another _pop_.

Hermione marked her page in the book and dropped it on the table. "Did you hear that, Harry and Ron are here!" she said excitedly before sweeping out of the room. She had been back for over a month, but her two best friends had been busy (looking for her), and only recently had anyone managed to get a hold of them.

"Hermione, you dropped…" She was already gone, and didn't hear him. Draco bent to pick up the piece of parchment she had dropped. He stared at it, fascinated. Their Compassion Binding was gone for good, but he could almost tangibly feel her emotions about this paper. He held it, feeling her anguish and misery and hope and love and… There was something else, something he couldn't place.

It was wrong to read what was on it, he knew. But by then he was already turning over the paper. Looking around furtively, he read the letter.

_My dear Hermione,_

_If you are reading this then I am dead, most likely by your hand. If ever you find yourself in trouble for that, I have enclosed a letter describing my consent of the matter, and hopefully it will get you out of any problems that may occur._

_That is not why I am writing._

_Hermione, anything that has happened this year is not your fault. When this whole war is over, I understand that it may feel like it is, but I assure you it's not. If you can sit and think for a minute, I'm sure you will realize that you made more happy memories this year than bad ones. You found love, and friendship, and realized more about yourself than I could know or put down on paper._

_Murder is an awful thing, Hermione, and killing someone you love is painful. I know you are a wonderful person, and brave. You'll be able to hold out until the end of the war, I know it. If, however, my death comes to haunt you someday, then I want to tell you a few things. I chose_ _this death, and I have been prepared for it since I was a child. Once, when I was a boy, I went to a small little town and had my fortune told. The only thing that the man would tell me was that I would die by the hand of someone I loved. Simply for being at my school, I have loved you, and through your brilliance, I have grown to love you as if you were my own child, even if I did not personally associate with you much._

_You have given me time to arrange my affairs and my mind. This death is the most peaceful one I could ever dream of for myself, and for that I would like to say thank you, Hermione Granger. If ever you think awful things about this act, then remember that I am giving you my thanks over it._

_I watched the sun rise the other morning. I'm far too old to be pulling all-nighters, but I did that night, and though I was exhausted and busy beyond all reason I stopped to watch the sun come up._

_Thank you for the sunrise, Hermione._

_The sunrise was unlike any that I had ever seen before. It was more beautiful than it had any right to be. The sun never rises in the same way, Hermione. It's different every single time, making each day different. Remember that. Each day you can make new decisions._

_You're a strong young woman, Hermione. You can heal from this, I know you can._

_I know that you were hurting over the summer due to your father, but I would ask you to not be so hard on him. I understand that you were in pain, but you must imagine how he felt about all of it. A long talk with him would probably be very good for the both of you._

_That's all I have to say, in the best way I can say it._

_My love and my thanks,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. It's hard to face it, but it _is _possible to go back._

And then Draco understood what that last feeling was. It was _healing._ He didn't understand how he knew what healing felt like, but that was what Hermione felt in that letter. Carefully, he refolded the letter and placed it between the pages of the book Hermione had been reading to him.

_Thank you, Dumbledore, _he said silently. _Thank you for bringing her back._

"Draco?" Hermione asked, poking her head in. "Are you coming or not? Harry and Ron have been asking about you, and I want you to be there so we can tell them of our engagement."

"Okay, Hermione," he said, giving her a crooked grin.

She gave him a brilliant smile, and as Draco stood to go to her, he remembered Dumbledore's words. "..._more beautiful than it had any right to be._" Perhaps he had truly meant them about the sunrise, but looking at Hermione now, he thought that such words could only ever be applied to her.

_--_

_But the nights brought sparks and the sparks brought flames,  
And you had to be sure this wasn't one of those games.  
But I'm going to show you if you could just give me tonight. _

_Tonight..._

—Mae, "Breakdown"

_--_

_Though it was a while ago  
I still can recall  
That moment, so ready  
And waiting to fall  
Can you take me back in time  
Remembering when  
You captured my heart  
Over and over again_

—Mae, "Ready And Waiting To Fall"

--

--**FIN**--


End file.
